Brunch Poem

Do not anthropomorphize the Roomba —
save your sadness for vessels with
baleful eyes.  

Ignore the sound of
plastic membrane on 
wood trim — that’s how she learns.  

Do not mourn the Tobacco Caterpillar
bisected by garden shears as it gripped
the zucchini now in this frittata.

You used to exist,
remember?

Tell the story of the promise you showed
at the clarinet. Listen:

Rattle,
hum,
blister,
distant screech.

Point to the holes in you
that have since closed,
and marvel at the resiliency
of cartilage. 

A toast:
to the body, its survival. 
To the sense memory of pain. 

Lucas Mann

Lucas Mann is the author of three books: Captive Audience: On Love and Reality Television, Lord Fear: A Memoir, and Class A: Baseball in the Middle of Everywhere. His essays have appeared in the The Paris Review, The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Review of Books, Guernica, BuzzFeed, Slate, Barrelhouse, and The Kenyon Review, among others. A recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and United States Artists, he teaches creative writing at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth and lives in Providence, Rhode Island.

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