I first became aware of John Gallaher with The Little Book of Guesses, a work that won him the Levis Poetry Prize in 2005. Since that time, I've become something of a stalker of his work and his blog. Gallaher's poetry, filled with inquisitiveness & wonderment, takes on a bittersweet tone in this four parted poem. However, Gallaher manages to sing his blues with the right amount of twang. Clever, earnest, entirely self-aware, this poem hits the reader with the unexpected delivery of a forgotten Top Ten hit, reminding us how quickly kitsch grows into our experiences and becomes profound with them during recollection.
"This’s the way things like this occur,/which’s why I started hoarding after-dinner mints. It’s a fateful move,/as always, I guess."
"There are dimensions to the curtain/that we hadn’t begun to guess at yet. Relaxed, almost/smiling. And so that’s it for Act I, at any rate,/and all we can think to do is open a second act. With the swingers hopping,/and the hipsters skipping."
"And then you have to deal with your friends’ choice in promises/and apologies. It’s a dangerous business,/as always. Even with the baker of your desire./And the season is forever for the rest of the week."