Berryman's Bones

The boy drew a line he could not cross

in sand with a stick he needed to beat

back water's wave.

He didn't get the chance. You're not the boss

of him besides, old man. Get your feet

off my cold wet grave.

There aren't enough trains to take

the bones to their belonging. Set sail

or help him put things right.

You can't do both. I asked God to make

my arms into maces and flail

everything in sight.

These days God is a lonely bitch

and won't do anything I ask. I take a seat

somewhere near

the river. The purpose of the skeleton is to hitch

meat to. The purpose of the meat

is not yet clear.

—Jeremy Glazier

Originally published in the February/March 2002 issue of Boston Review