“What to Do with Leftovers” by Edison Jennings

Edison Jennings


When she doesn’t show,
toss out the bread for birds,
freeze the shrimp in Tupperware,
and forget the words—

all that awful sweet-talk
you practiced while you cooked,
the boyish innuendoes
on just how good she looked.

Plug the cork back in the wine
(the fresh whipped cream won’t last);
what was meant to be a feast
has now become a fast.

Take the pills the doctor gave
and try to get some sleep:
what you could not save
was never yours to keep.

from Rattle #41, Fall 2013
Tribute to Single Parent Poets

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Edison Jennings: “I live in Virginia with my two sons, and none of us are sure why I persist in writing poetry. But sometimes I tell my sons that maybe I write poetry because of a desire (a need?) to take part in an age-old conversation. In other words, I want to respond to a call, as in call and response. The bard calls and I squeak out a response. There are many calls and many responses, stretching back millennia. It is a communal and constantly evolving conversation. At least, that’s what I tell my sons.”

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