I'm not really a poet -- my need to point that out is in deference to several friends who are excellent poets.
I wrote this just for fun.


Spit out of suburbia. A pervert child
with city leanings. A refugee
of Happy Days. I was uprooted
like an errant piece of crab grass.
Don't ask me, Love.

Your summer hair begins to kindle.
Is there some other act of fire
I can perform to please you?
Any but this.
You taunt me with the brightest coals
Then bid me wait
'til they are gray and ash,
And I alike.
Don't ask me, Love.

We'll draw the dogs. See how the scent
Of promise spirals. Don't ask me
To take part in backyard rites.

Copyright Rachel Canon

Selected Works

Random House, 1996
Headline Books, 1995
Novel in progress
Short Fiction
Appeared in the anthology D*cked: Dark Fiction Inspired by Dick Cheney (2011).
In Turning Up The Leaves, Coe Review Pres, 2000
In UnEarth, Second Anniversary Issue, Winter 1979
Just for Fun
In BBQ'ed Poetry, 1989

Quick Links

Find Authors