A bird squawks "Magruder! Magruder!" so early this
morning. Across the river, sirens cry out first breaths
of life. Fog – a caul shrouds the skyline – our faces grey
and bagged, struggling to inhale through umbilical faith
in dawn. I wipe sleep's vernix from my eyes, afterbirth
of dreams waxy in my hands. Magruder! Is this a call
to prayer for the newbird genesis, redbreast Pope of
Weehawken? His umbraculum sky unfolding over our
heads, anointing our foreheads with bird shit and
rainwater, ashes and wine. Magruder! A name that
washes the feet of the poor in sewer water, absolves us
of our vanity, absinthe veniality, an archangel from our
swipe-right Saint dating app, martyred in the avenues
by dollars and donuts, Uber and Paypal blinking at the
coffee truck that only takes cash. Magruder – make the
holy three pointer from beyond the paint! Magruder!
Show us the way of the damned, the N train to Queens.
Magruder! Your name cries out for redemption.
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
If I’m supposed to know who Magruder is/was, I don’t. If he is made up, clearly only he can save a world in disarray.
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LOL! Yes, only he. Just this bird’s insistent cry and me trying/failing to make sense of it…
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I love your “afterbirth of dreams!” and your entire poem..
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Clever poem. I love “redbreast Pope ofWeehawken.”
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Wonderful observations, qbit, and I enjoyed the wry tone of your poem.
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so much to love about this poem! my fave line?– “an archangel from our swipe-right Saint dating app.” fwiw, to me, Magruder brings to mind Rodney Magruder (basketball player– and yes, i caught the paint reference!), and also Magruder: meaning– “son of the brewer” … which also works well with your poem, particularly if you’re “high” on absinthe. 🙂
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Thanks! Also Jeb Stuart Magruder of Watergate fame, and a Confederate general among others. I didn’t assume anyone would know about that, all pretty obscure. Mostly was just a fun name to “shout” in the poem over and over, LOL!
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🙂
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As always, q, you combine whimsy with a nasty little razor that tends to slice away the detritus and carve its initials with a gleeful smile in the reader’s brain…purely a pleasurable experience, I assure you. I love the images that jostle each other along, the sense of place and pervading times that add mood and depth, and if you will forgive me quoting piecemeal, this passage ” sirens cry out first breaths/of life. Fog – a caul shrouds the skyline – our faces grey/and bagged, struggling to inhale through umbilical faith/in dawn…”
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Thanks so much. Really appreciate that.
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I don’t know why but I kept reading MacGyver from the TV series and expected someone to show up with a string, putty and a something doohickey to fix this morning, this day, this world! If only.
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Lol, yes, I heard that too as I was writing. There was some sort of TV person or show there.
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