Poem for John McCain
Today I read about the factory
where they make the custom rolling ladders
everyone has probably seen
rising through silent rooms
full of boxes or shelves
crossed by motes in the sun
#5 is my favorite
made of black walnut
with its hinge that folds a small surface out
for reading or placing
books on as you shelve them
it’s easy to imagine working in a library
for me at least there is something shameful
about how clearly I can see it
like I am thinking something important is not
I say tomorrow waits for me
but I don’t know
if I knew anything about the wars
besides what I have been safely told
I might understand
why they call him a maverick
when he is really just a horse
a horse like me except with dark eyes
terrible from his useless suffering
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About the Author
Matthew Zapruder is author of two collections of poems, American Linden and
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BR Footnote:
Boston Review’s intern blog