Poems by Tim Seibles

JACKBOOT BLUES VILLANELLE        
 
 
Someday we’ll just be pictures on the wall— 
Maybe one framed smile sitting on a desk
And these jackboots won’t bother us at all
 
Just flip a switch: watch midnight fill the hall
Scroll down the screen    embrace forgetfulness
Next year, we could be pictures on the wall
 
I used to think good lovin said it all
The sleep of gods—that post-orgasmic rest
And jackboots hardly touched my life at all
 
Let some ole redneck sing this with a drawl:
We was two birds jukin the same nest
Pretty soon we’ll both be quiet on the wall
 
Wish I could trade places with a doll:
Look stupid at the news and wear a plastic dress
And never think about this shit at all
 
In a thousand years, won’t English be a scrawl?
A ravaged Latin half-scribbled for a test
These jackboots: hated faces on some wall
 
Think I better tromp around the mall:
Stare down a mannequin like a man possessed
Not let bad blood bring me down at all
 
Or maybe I’ll confess a personal flaw— 
Go tell my mom, his life is just a mess!
 
Someday I’m gonna smile from the wall
And these jackboots won’t bother me at all



FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH THE JACKAL
 
 
Gettin old— 
still don’t know
why I am    what I am.
 
Do you?
But I’d been a sniper
in the army and
after a while,
laying a man down— 
especially with a silencer— 
felt like putting him
to bed, like putting
my baby boy to bed,
closing his eyes
with a kiss.
 
Other times, I loved
the impact: the head
snapping back— 
like JFK’s. (You seen
the Zapruder film?
You think Oswald
did that?)
 
---<>---
 
Everything takes practice.
I practice everything:
patience, maximum distance,
an exact feel for the wind,
 
understanding the light
on a face    in the crosshairs.
Right then,
 
I get the same swerve in my gut
you got    first time
you held hands with a girl.
 
---<>---
 
 
It really started
with a dare: years ago,
bitching about the city,
 
friend’a mine said,
“Bet you ten-grand
you won’t kill the mayor.”
 
Anyway, that next week,
it’s evening: Front door
opens. I’m down the block,
 
behind some blue SUV.
He bends down,
pets the cat. Next thing:
a hole in his neck.
 
Corrupt prick.
I’d seen him gladhanding
at rallies, dancing
like some sort of
retarded robot.
Him and his fat-fuck,
klepto buddies tickling
each other’s nuts.
 
On TV, his wife
could hardly hide
her relief. She tried
to look “distraught,”
but no one was buyin it.
 
---<>---
 
Don’t get me wrong:
I’m no avenging angel.
I’ve taken good men.
Counts right? I work— 
 
Like sweating a day on any job.
You get through it.
 
--<>--
 
And I know
I’ve moved
the world.
 
Hard to figure
how much.
I mean it’s possible
I’ve ruined Everything
 
but c’mon.
This    is a bad dance.
Gotta change the music.
 
---<>---
 
Look, I’m no monster either.
When I was sixteen,
I worked a slaughterhouse.
 
A chicken’s eyes tell you
he wants to live.
People think they’re dumb
 
but they want to live.
 
And most days
I’d go home sad.
Some nights, I didn’t
sleep. Funny:
 
my gentle wife
can gnaw on a wing
like it was never attached
to anything.

Tim Seibles is the author of several books of poetry including Hurdy-Gurdy and Buffalo Head Solos, published by the Cleveland State University Poetry Center. His fifth collection, Fast Animal, published by Etruscan Press, was a finalist for the 2012 National Book Award and winner of both the Theodore Roethke Memorial Poetry Prize and Pen Oakland Prize for Poetry. In 2017, his book One Turn Around The Sun was released. As the Poet Laureate of Virginia from 2016 to 2018, Seibles traveled the state as an ambassador for poetry. His new and selected collection, Voodoo Libretto was released by Etruscan in 2022. With No Hat, his latest, will be published in 2026.

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