THAT

Archaic Carton of Oatmeal
after Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo”
Joseph Dorazio
Though you’ll never press close
to his salubrious chest
nor feel the embrace of his capable arms,
his smile and sanguine jowls still cajole you.
Otherwise his great black hat could not
stir you so, could not make morning
glow hot past some mysterious bog
where cranberries flare. Otherwise
this Quaker would seem decapitated
inside your constipated house: would
not be warmed by your stories of oats
wild and sensually sown: for here
there is not one grain that does not taste you.
You must simplify your life.
110 THAT