Deconstruction for Juniors
Barry Peters
Deconstruction for Juniors
We listen to the silence
of Ben Webster’s Misty.
Touch the air around
a replica of The Thinker.
Discuss what Nick doesn’t do
to stop the carnage in Gatsby.
Oh, I get it, Xavier says
from the back row. Like,
how there’s nobody with a gun
bustin in here right now?
That’s why I like this class.
Guests
You’re polite enough: open the door,
shake hands, side-hugs all around,
the chit-chat, the updates, the nods
and frowns. Dinner, another
waterfall of conversation. But when
the coffee starts percolating
it’s time to slip outside in the cold
country silence and visit the apple tree,
its black limbs skeletal against the night,
two different darks. The burn barrel
at the far end of the yard, ashy cologne
wafting from its rusty collar. And back
across the acre, the chimney: tall and proper,
warmly smoking. Him, you’ll leave alone.
Let’s Have Class Outside
Loblolly pines
line the ridge
like lime lollipops.
Angles of sunlight
triangulate trunks
and limbs. Silhouettes,
shadows—reaching
hands raising questions
I can’t answer.
Barry Peters lives in Durham and teaches in Raleigh, NC. Publications include The American Journal of Poetry, Best New Poets, New Ohio Review, Poetry East, and The Southampton Review.