Colorado Review

84 ANGELA BALL POLYANDRY I confuse geologists By loading up boulders And distributing them across campuses The world over. I am present in 1934 When dop, first soap-free mass-market shampoo, Is promoted through hair-lathering competitions at circuses And outdoor radio shows around Europe. I slip repeatedly out of my catcher’s grasp And off the air To join the mighty handful Of Russian composers, turning their music, Artists and scientists always one step from The discovery That finesses all questions And delivers the fiery city To the hands of the monsoon, Its wavering globules On every surface, Clumsy and uncaring. 85 ANGELA BALL LO QUE HAY I’m just learning about jazz having competing elements Or instruments that speak up for themselves Like strings of pearls, like a girl named Anita. Also shooting apostrophes with my apostrophe gun Dragging them home to my poetry oasis Playing them my new favorite song By Arturo Sandoval, “Eso es lo que hay.” The question we ask about others: how Is (s)he taking it? For example a widow Part Cherokee married again but he wanted Charleston she didn’t now she has boyfriend very tall Cubano-Spanish and daughters in twenties, jobs they don’t like But seem happy. The question about ourselves: How do we get? Uninteresting spiritless Envy also sense that thing Is not thing, but black-and-white jazz funeral, We its blowsy handkerchiefs. ...