Always a beat too cool for whatever
school the rhythm guys are swimming in
as if each bar hangs shimmering
like an ornament, tugs at some continuum
between the lips you purse to whittle
every eighth-note silhouette and your last
quicksilver fix as you ghost out
of your battered brass soul straight past
the gilded to the hammered-thin – fugitive
gift that stuns the metronome,
then reels us in.
Ed Granger lives and was raised in Lancaster County, where he consequently learned early the proper way to pass a buggy. He works for a healthcare non-profit and is a half-time dad. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Seminary Ridge Review, Loch Raven Review, The Delmarva Review, and other journals.