Missing You, Metropolis by Gary Jackson (Graywolf Press, $15 trade paper, 9781555975722/1555975720, October 26, 2010)
A poem
from a collection we really like. Jackson, winner of the 2009 Cave Canem Poetry Prize, writes about comic book worlds, racial isolation, Kansas--he's
playful, serious, sophisticated. It's difficult to choose just one poem:
"Nightcrawler Buys a Woman a Drink"
You're staring, jaw-dropped at my tail. And yes,
it's a good twenty inches long and moves
like a serpent in heat. Touch it. I'm no devil, honey,
I don't got no souls, just the smoothest, bluest fur
you've ever seen. Don't mind my buddy here, he looks angry
all the time, and he's got eyes for the bottle of Jameson
and the short-haired blonde playing pool near the gorillas.
What to we do? Over a few drinks I could tell you about the time
we traveled to the blue side of the moon or when we fought
the Juggernaut right here in this bar. Yeah, the fangs are real.
Rub your finger over them, touch the deviled tongue.
Caress my fur with your skin, let me keep your body warm
in the dark. It's your night, honey. Show me a woman not afraid
of a mutant man. Let me mix into your bloodline.
--Selected by Marilyn Dahl