National Poetry Month Day 28: from “Bombyonder” by Reb Livingston


from Bombyonder

Without an imaginary world, without a proper backpack, without my little pink orb,

without an old tablet’s commandments, without a hair dryer, empty hands, empty

birdcage obscured by a crate of empties.

Left without a predictable choice, without direct involvement, without being wiser, left

without leave, left what I came with, left with myself.

Squawkless, peepless, no doubt brandless.

Nothing happening, nothing I wanted, nothing needed, nothing harmed any more than it

already had, nothing like a vacation to the bottom and getting fogburned.

Discriminatory questions as I pass through the hole, am I this or am I that, would I say

this or would I say that, if I could be any monster, which one would I be?

There could have been a lollipop garden for me on the other side or a newly shined


I could have an army of bridesmaids wielding shields of bananas, enjoying my pillage.

If you pencil them in, they will come.

In some unpleasant, uncalculated fashion.

Reb Livingston

Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →