Golf Cart

Scuttled poem—

was called “Golf Cart” 

 

Something about

Golf Cart Stage

Imperialism 

ditched

in a pond. 

 

Poem kicked off with

the cringe quatrain: 

 

“All aboard! 

here we go—

uh, little bit of a 

puddle, here”

 

Poem sputtered out 

at the next quatrain:

 

“Legs up!

everybody, um 

—jump!

paddle, paddle”

 

Scuttled poem—

gurgling, still. 

 

It’s going to be okay. 

 

There were no odes to doorlessness

nor hymns to windowless wondrousness.

 

There could have been tortured metaphors

with straining semaphores 

to Niger, Burkina Faso, Mali, 

Nigeria, Benin, and Chad. 

 

There could have been paeans 

to the latest French designs: 

Le Grand Lisse, Le Magnifique Lent

L’ incroyablement Silencioux.

 

There could have been cold-eyed contrasts 

to Russian knockoffs like

Velikiy Slavianskiy Sekret Amfibianoidov

“Great Slav Stealth Amphibianoid” 

 

But scuttled poems

make for dubious intel 

despite

encrypted lines like:

       

The verdant fields 

in front

are unfolding

 

The withered fields 

behind

are fast fading 

 

It’s—okay—

or, not okay—

either way

 

There is no breezy way

of jumping out. 

 

What remains is 

not a red wheelbarrow

in the rain 

 

but a Golf Cart

in the muck

 

with its last say—

 

as we walk away. 

 

Rodrigo Toscano is a poet and dialogist based in New Orleans. He is the author of eleven books of poetry. His latest books are The Cut Point (Counterpath Press, 2023) and The Charm & The Dread (Fence Books, 2022). Forthcoming is WHITMAN. CANNONBALL. PUEBLA. (Omnidawn, 2025). His Collapsible Poetics Theater (Fence Books, 2008) was a National Poetry Series selection. His poetry has appeared in Best American Poetry and Best American Experimental Poetry (BAX).