We’re excited to announce that the poem “The Afternoon You Drowned, Artie Flanagan” from Scott Dalgarno’s Third-Class Relics has earned a nomination for the Pushcart Prize!
Of course we believe that you should have a copy of the poetry collection Third-Class Relics on hand to read, but to celebrate the nomination, we’ll publish the poem here as well.
The Afternoon You Drowned, Artie Flanagan
Beached, on your back, your eyes half-open;
who were you trying to impress, jumping
from the tressel that way, Artie Flanagan?
I was between semesters, earning tuition
as a rookie fireman when our Captain radioed
the ambulance en route, telling them to take
their time, you being, you know, dead;
we “summer help,” standing there in the non-existent
breeze, silent like you, having never seen
a corpse before – veteran firemen making jokes
about your too-small blue speedo and the fact that,
lying so low, you made no attempt to hold up your end
of the conversation.
Who knew that death could be that lonely?
I found your name later in the newspaper
below an ad for Pop-Tarts.
In my highly official
pre-Velcro
reflector-taped
fire retardant
uniform, I too was trying to impress
someone who barely knew I existed.
Your death stripped me naked.
You were hardly an Olympic diver, Artie Flanagan.
Like me, you were Martinelli’s pretending
to be Dom Pérignon. I wasn’t a life saver,
just a dimwit undergrad who could comprehend
neither my father’s infidelity nor his pleas
to reconcile.
What did I know about life’s big questions –
all the answers, apt or bogus, waiting for me
along the far shore of my innocence;
my ride to them (time’s checkered cab)
stopping for cigarettes,
in no hurry to pick me up.
Third-Class Relics is now out on Moon Path Press. Buy your own copy at any of these online retailers:
