Mitch Roberson

The This of That

Myself mostly, whoever
that is. The future, which waits
forever, or history,
whose untimely death

is survived by a dog.
Teeth, lips. Ghosts
of words, how they haunt
the mouth, how they use

the tongue as a medium
to talk trash. Semblance,
aura. Pigeons roosting
in an O. The gift of pause.

Hands. The color of lemons,
the color of the scent
of lemons. Our collective suicide,
grief's beautiful blowjob.

Mitch Roberson holds an MFA from Vermont College. His poems have appeared in The Nation, Poetry, and elsewhere. In 2004 he won the Discovery/The Nation award in poetry. contact