Taylor Hagood: Writer, Lecturer, Professor

Frank Capra

"his shoulders marched against the dark"
 e e cummings

The room went silent as a bubble
shooting up a glass, and hard-eyed men
stared. Mr. Deeds, with his mouth full
of sandwich, ordered lunches for them. Then
the noise returned. I watched, a breathless
child, beside my father, whose jaw
worked in obscurity. And I rejoiced:
even the kissing in the end was
not so bad. I sat learning the awe
of never-gained---victory of never-died.
My father resembled him, a varnish
always facing dust, a swelling shadow
with shoulder tilted behind a wish,
pushing always from below.

Originally published in Poetalk (Spring 2002): 29.