There he goes again (the poet), by Anthony Borusso
"He is only half as pathetic as he makes himself out to be"
There he goes again (the poet),
making the elegy all about himself, as if he were the one to drink his liver into oblivion without so much as a Pushcart to show for it. He is only half as pathetic as he makes himself out to be (the deceased), whispering sweet nothings to his new bride (the dirt) while she nods her many meal- worm heads to their soft rhythms. He can’t (both of them now) keep going on about death like this, it’s indulgent, it’s low-hanging (overripe, now rotting) fruit. It’s so pregnant (aborted) with self-doubt and ego, which is a gross balance to achieve. I don’t envy him (anyone).
Read our interview with Poet of the Week, Anthony Borusso, in which he discusses love, desire, and pop culture in the digital world. About the latter, he says:
“I also think that pop culture is a kind of shortcut for closeness with your reader. If you’ve watched the same movie or played with the same toy as a kid, there’s an intimacy to that. I find that making these references is a great way to connect with your reader in the brief span of the poem. At the same time, you can also be someone other than who you really are in the poem. I’ll admit it, I never wanted a Furby, and I don’t really regret not immortalizing Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, but the poem needed me to do a little cosplay.”