June 8, 2023

Tim Skeen

FETISH

I’m not psychotic; I’m just hungry.
—Peter Lorre

The rhythm of the photocopier
and the clarity of the images
excite me. The first page of semicolons
appears in the document tray.
 
12 point type gives me 5,934 semicolons.
Anything smaller than 12 point type
is pornography. I examine the page
for flaws. The paper warms my fingers.
 
I run 50 pages, which I spread out
on the table. 296,700 semicolons.
How disappointing. I thought
there would be more, but there are reams
 
left on the shelf, and after they’re gone,
whole catalogues devoted to more paper
and toner. There’s even a maintenance
agreement. I am perhaps two decades
 
from retirement, and not at all selfish
or unreasonable or obsessed with numbers
or size. At 72 point type I can get 147
semicolons on each page. Between
 
12 point and 72 point, between Arial
and Harrington and Verdana,
there are so many possibilities,
all delightful and mine.
 

from Rattle #25, Summer 2006

__________

Tim Skeen: “For me, reading and writing poetry is searching for ecstasy; Rattle is one of the places I look.”

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March 18, 2020

Tim Skeen

THAT OTHER WHILE AGO

When a car hits our neighbor’s beagle,
breaking its back in front of our house,

my mother tells me to drag her into
the driveway. Eugene leans over

his dog, tears running down his face.
I can’t, he says. I just can’t do it.

My mother tells me to get the .22; 
the edge in her voice makes me run.

She cycles the bolt and hands the rifle
to me. You know what to do, she says.

The moment I squeeze the trigger,
I join the army. The moment she

points out where to dig the hole
in the backyard, I get out of the army.

The moment Eugene, on his knees over
the grave, looks at me, open mouthed, 

eyes red-rimmed and wide, I become
middle-aged, then old, then alone.

from Rattle #66, Winter 2019

__________

Tim Skeen: “The older I become, the less the world seems to be making sense to me in everything but poetry.” (web)

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