Wooly Mammoth

Eventually the permafrost surrendered him
To genetic speculation.

Gog and Magog, the door was agog.

Sort of goes without saying though.

Now I know I have to get
Myself out of trouble.

Before leaving town
Check the weather and your luggage.

Many words spoken to me have seemed English.

He instructed me in etiquette. Since when?

At certain times it seems more facile;
Those are the times to watch out for.

All attempts at eloquence
Are acts of seduction,
Most of which fail,

Just in case you didn’t know.

Voices, for instance, of which there are so many saying so little.

Louder please, I can’t hear you.

Or both at the same time?

But it’s too late for that knowledge,
At least for the moment.

A fading Autumn day, back when I was so much simpler.

Ian Ganassi’s work has appeared recently or will appear soon in numerous literary magazines, including The American Journal of Poetry, Blazevox, Twisted Vine, Oddball, and Manhattanville Review, among others. His poetry collection, Mean Numbers, was published in 2016. His new collection, True for the Moment, is forthcoming from MadHat Press. He is a longtime resident of New Haven, Connecticut. Selections from an ongoing collaboration with a painter can be found at www.thecorpses.com.