Clay
by PATRICK REARDON
In the smoke-and-mirror high-rises,
peasant corners, a spontaneous revolt.
Janitor soviets meet in the upper room
at the Eighth Avenue McDonald’s
in sum-of-all Manhattan.
Denmark Jones compromises his denim pride.
He puts his wallet in the bishop’s white hands,
awaits chrism.
The forehead-marked march these Loop streets,
breathing their allotted breaths,
doing their portion, enduring their stew of
horror and delight, joyful sorrow,
beyond logic and brilliance.
The collectivization of emotions
on the LA freeways, the social skin touch,
electric muscles of the masses.
Life by slogan.
Breathing by commercial.
The cancelation of debts, real and imagined.
At the New Orleans dawn, a figure
on the walking path is facing Mecca
and bowing face down, the sacred
words.
Muffled drums, slow march.
Peace, ecstasy, stasis — still.
The surrender of eyelids.
Patrick T. Reardon, a Chicago Tribune reporter from 1976 to 2009, is the author of seven poetry collections. His latest, Every Marred Thing: A Time in America, was the winner of the 2024 Faulkner-Wisdom Prize from the Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society of New Orleans (Lavender Ink). He is a six-time nominee in poetry for a Pushcart Prize. His poetry has appeared in America, RHINO, Commonweal, Long Poem, After Hours, Autumn Sky, Burningword Literary Journal, and other journals.