Volume IV Archive

Rebecca Hoogs

Daphne In As the World Turns

Before all that hot pursuit,
I lived a pastoral existence:
meadows and mead and suitors swimsuited…
But Apollo?  Blacklisted. 

In the end, I died a pastoral existence,
or wish I had, anyway.
Apollo—black tempered, incensed—
turned pirate, barged up my waterways.

What wishes I had were waked away;
he had a fast boat. 
I turned on the waterworks,
turned on my heel, and wrote my footnotes,

but he had a faster boast.
I got to shore, got treed.
He’s such a heel.  Footnote:
I’m turned, gone bad. 

I’m got, for sure.  I’m tree
in meadow, see? We’re completely unsuited. 
But I’d do it again—the turning, the going—
not for what ensued, but for the ensuing.