Wealth, Economy & Madness

Hiccuping at Reality

by Jack Conway

His hand is in a cast but no one asks what happened
to it. He could have been pulling himself up by his
bootstraps when the laces broke or slammed it accidentally
in the doors of perception. Maybe he was pulling his own
weight, which is a mistake, especially at his age. He could
have been hanging by a thread, holding the fort or even
holding his own, maybe casting the first stone, that could
do it. It could have been pets. A bird in the hand (they
peck). And you know what damage taking the bull by the
horns can do. He's been grasping at straws lately,
living hand to mouth. I heard he's got a finger in every pie.
He's the type of guy that could have been rubbing someone
the wrong way, giving a left-handed compliment. Even
putting the touch on someone. He could have been reaching
for the stars, you know how far that will get you.
And how about having time on his hands, slipping through
his fingers. Skating on thin ice. Took a tumble. But finally he said
he was just waving at a cupcake and hiccuping at reality.
That explains everything.

Jack Conway's poems have been published in The Norton Anthology of Light Verse, Yankee: The Best Magazine Poetry of 1996, Amelia: The Arvon Foundation International Poetry Anthology, The New Renaissance, Wavelength, Poetry Motel, Penumbra, Eclipse, and The Hiram Poetry Review. He has an undergraduate degree from Roger Williams College in Bristol, Rhode Island, and a Master's degree from Vermont College. He is a former adjunct professor at Boston University and Fisher College.