Robins Might Land on a Statue of Robinson
Kathleen Rooney

if he ever gave the town
any reason to build one.
Past ponderous bronzes

of Beethoven, Burns, and a stern
metal man whose identity he's
unsure of, Robinson leans

almost into the Untermeyer Fountain,
yearns to shed the sense he'll die
before his parents.

American elm seeds drift down
like confetti as he thinks
of posterity.

If he expects to leave any sort
of legacy, he'll have to leave
this leaden city.

Breeze across the water scatters his
reflection. Mirrors, like monuments,
have no real memory.

After Weldon Kees

1996 © 2006