Yuill - Medicine show

tom yuill

Medicine Show

the university of chicago press

Chicago London

acknowledgments

I want to thank the editors of the following journals in which these poems, sometimes in different versions, first appeared:

Literary Imagination: The Review of the Association of Literary Scholars and Critics: Medicine Show (page 21), Fragment

Naked Truth: Debate with His Heart (earlier version)

The New Journal: Lovers

A Public Space: Coyote, Debate with His Heart (later version), Several Histories, Dallas Skinheads (shorter version)

Salamander: It Happens

I am grateful for the support of a Teaching Fellowship and numerous successive teaching appointments at Boston University.

I wish to thank for their invaluable support Julia Yuill Harkins; R. Wayne and Francis Nunnally; the Honorable Lydia Calvert Taylor; Dr. Paige Frazer; Hal Yuill; John Yuill; my sisters, Catherine and Margaret; and my parents, Joan and Charles.

Many thanks to the poets whose insight and generosity helped me write this book, particularly Derek Walcott, Rosanna Warren, David Ferry, Peter Campion, Tim Seibles, Scott Cairns, and David Blair.

I owe a special debt of gratitude to Robert Pinsky.

Every Wolfs and Lions howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

coyote

My friend, I could wander
Around out here for years,
Shaking my head for letting him out,
Swearing not to forgive myself
If anything should happen.
He slipped out in the rain
While I slept. I followed,
Desperate, with a picture, asking people,
Have you seen this coyote?
He went across the ocean
On a freight ship, sat in the corners
Of doorways on Rue Montmartre,
On Aston Quay, and in London,
Slumped, head between his knees,
Longing for the familiar woods,
Longing for the last red glimpse of sun
On the lake. He says he is a coyote
Who does what he likes. He likes
To stay outside. Tonight under the evening
Clouds in their cold, silver raiment
He sits there, alone,
And I must go out to find him.

bit: an ode with the rolling stones playing in the background

The King squirms, on the spot.
Each remark makes a wound, like a mouth.
Each hot thought grins like a raccoon.
Each moment heats itself against another moment.

Each thing fucks. Each thing wants.
Waste and pain again and again.
They got me with a fine they didnt tell me was a fine.
They got people like teeth, whose job is being sharp.

They got people dressed in plastic bags directing traffic.
Wake up, King! Wake up the Son of Man.
The sex between the sexes hasnt stopped.
The drinking of the drunkards hasnt stopped.

The King inspects his mud flaps, then anoints his beets.
Each mouth slobbers. Each mouth eats.

unsolicited elegy

My brothers, the Wag and the Artful Dodger
(Really my cousins) awoke me at 3:44. We poured big
Bourbon and cokes and took a walk.

Traylor asked how my broken leg was healing,
I asked how his broken collar bone was healing.
Charles told us his plan: Ill take biology,

And really study. Then, if I receive a B, I leave
The frat house, study all the time. Its med school.
Im a doctor. If its below a B, stay in the house,

Its business, Im a millionaire from business.
What about B minus? Still a B. Im still
A doctor. And same goes for C plus? Its not

A B. So Im in business, Cousin. They wanted big
Aquariums. No matter what we talked about,
Charles had an answer, Traylor had philosophy

Like this: If youre ever in a group
Of people longer than 15 minutes and cant figure
Out who the dumbass is, youre it. We listened

lovers

The air is hot, it whispers, it has lips.
It whispers like good news... the beer is cold.
She lumbers for one more. Eywhered she go?
He thinks, but turns and thinks, oh there she is.

Hes sitting by her on the floor with lime
Peels, open tubes of paint; some Jonathan
Richmans playing. One of thems been painting.
Dos Equis are being knocked back. He finds

He knows where she is. She sees him. Its summer,
Theyre on the floor. The musics like good news.
I get a facial tic when I drink too
Much Coke, he says. Each time I brush

My teeth I think about Wisconsin, she nods.
They whisper, purse their lips, its all good news.

ode to the wind

Im older now and live without regard
For consequences less than in my youth.
And I dont like you stuffing my nose

Full of sewery rain, whipping swill
Around corners and overfed pillars.
I do like the way you make the trees rattle,

A soundtrack around me, or lover
Like presence, for which I am grateful, if I am
Lonely. But I have to say, it annoys

Me that you blow, or that youre blown,
That you dont emerge from some regard.
What? Dont say Im out of line.

I still know about influences, flux
Of swirl and vortex. Weather. Hey, I choose
To walk this way, I choose

To stand here being blown by you.
And though you bring me
New ideas for lunchtacos al carbon

for orleans

Villon

Here beside the fountain I die of thirst.
In my own state Im in a foreign land.
Im comforted and grin when in despair.
When dolled up like a judge, bare as a wurst.
I talk about my pleasures but theyre bland.
Im always welcomed, always shown the door.

At daybreak I tell all good night, good luck.
All my learnings earned by pure, blind chance.
While lying down I know Ill fall. Im sure.
Im so well set I dont have one sawbuck.
Am not an heir, expect inheritance,
Am always welcomed, always shown the door.

I work, but still dont give a happy damn.
Ill spend my coins before I stop to think.
I know it all and my mind is a blur,
Lies, the truthto me theyre both the same.
Its soothing knowing the sturdiest boat sinks.
Im always welcomed, always shown the door.

Forbearing Princes, learn: I know the score.
Im quite unique, like everyone youve known.
Whats my gift? Retrieving things I pawn,