The Last Day of February

By DAVID LEHMAN

The month, shortest of the year, least popular, ends,
and on the radio there’s “Midnight Sun,” a concept
worthy of a Ramos Gin Fizz, if you have the ingredients,
it being understood that the weight of the world is too
hefty for any one consciousness to bear, let alone to
comprehend. More songs come: Doris Day, Bea Wain,
Bob Eberle sings “Tangerine” like a ballad and then
Helen O’Connell picks up the satire and the pace.
O, music of the 1940s! What sense did you make
to my father-in-law in the ninety-fourth division,
three hundred and first battalion, company G,
from Normandy to Bastogne, “Roosevelt’s Butchers”?
A foot soldier in Patton’s army, he punched a bigoted sergeant,
served in Germany, liberated a camp, was never the same.

 

David Lehman’s most recent books are The Morning Line (poems) and The Mysterious Romance of Murder (prose). He edited The Oxford Book of American Poetry and is series editor of The Best American Poetry, which he founded in 1988.

[Purchase Issue 26 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

The Last Day of February

Related Posts

Headshot of Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Nocturne for Dark Things

AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL
One of the marvels of my life— / an alphabet. A whole green and mossy / world can be made and remade / from just twenty-six dark curlicues. / Here’s more dark: sometimes birds sleep / tucked under a giraffe’s dusky armpit / and sometimes fungi fatten only at night.

A fishing boat on Dal Lake in Kashmir

[Freedom Song]

FATIMAH ASGHAR
i plead, come help free me from me. what an overworked god / the policemen’s gun turning towards the sand, the ocean’s azaadi / crashing blue wave after blue into the fishing boat, thieving / life from its water. everything is a freedom song, i hear azaadi / in the wind & in the flood

Supermarketing

LAUREN DELAPENHA
For example, the last time I asked God / to kill me I was among the lemons, remembering // the preacher saying, God is a God who is able / to hunger. I wonder, // aren’t we all here for that fast / communion of a stranger reaching // for the same hydroponic melon?