Seventy at Seventy: Poems, by Tom Montag

Seventy at Seventy: Poems, by Tom Montag

The very title of Tom Montag’s latest book of poetry started a Simon & Garfunkel song playing in my head. “How terribly strange to be seventy,” a 27-year-old Paul Simon wrote in “Old Friends” back in the late 1960s. In having reached and passed that milestone,...
Nineteen Forty-five

Nineteen Forty-five

         I am lazing around, sharing my attic roomwith Cincinnati’s swelter and three more booksfrom the library—Girl of the Limberlost, Jo’s Boys,Dr. Doolittle—when the church bells begin to ringand the kitchen radio raises its decibels, castingsome sort of...
Morning's Detour

Morning's Detour

One would expect gracklesor crows, purple necks stretched outin the backstreet gloom, flutteringfrom dumpster to chain-link fence. But here come the wayward geesefanning out over asbestos shingleslanding flat-footed on the parking lotin an artful unraveling fuss....
Greyhound

Greyhound

In what seems another lifetime,I drove a bus for Greyhound.Riders weren’t allowed to talk to the driver,and I couldn’t talk to them—company rules—and I wasn’t allowed to look at a map,at least not when anyone was watching.I remember the long silences between stopslate...