Some Poets Are Trying To Find Marco Rubio

Ryan Rivas

 

JUAN FELIPE HERRERA CALLS

MARCO RUBIO’S ORLANDO[1] OFFICE

 

Another voice:

“Please come get us.”  Someone said — from below

in the mist in the blood through the glass jagged & split.

the soft-petaled arm as if in search of more death.

Another voice (from above):

“It could have lasted a whole song.”

through the dark

from above —  “It is heroic to save others lives.”

they have multiplied into our voices

your voices

Listen: Lissen —

 

JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CALLS
MARCO RUBIO’S JACKSONVILLE[2] OFFICE

 

Why don’t you kick and howl,

Tiny bit of humanity.

Because you can lie so long and so quietly on your back,

Playing with the dimpled big toe of your left foot,

To grow up and be a banker

––And make up your mind forthwith––

Or a politician or some other sort of go-getter.

Can it be that already you are thinking of being a poet?

Rid yourself of these incipient thoughts.

 

DONALD JUSTICE CALLS
MARCO RUBIO’S MIAMI[3] OFFICE

 

A day like the days I remember, a day like other days,

Speaking in Spanish softly, out of respect.

And the sun will be bright then on the dark glasses of strangers.

A day that nobody knows or remembers yet.

I will die in Miami in the sun

––while the diggers, standing apart, in the still shade of the palms,

And my dog, quivering under a table because of the storm––

When I took out this paper and began to write,

And after awhile the diggers with their shovels…

And the wind that today made all the little shrubs kneel down.

 

UNDER THE ANXIETY OF INFLUENCE, A FLUSTERED RYAN RIVAS CALLS
MARCO RUBIO’S TAMPA[4] OFFICE

“We are currently in the process of moving and finding a new office location. If you need immediate assistance, please contact us toll free in Florida at (866) 630-7106.”

 

WALLACE STEVENS CALLS
MARCO RUBIO’S PALM BEACH[5] OFFICE

 

Foam and cloud are one,

Are dissolving,

On the palmy beach.

There will never be an end

To this droning of the surf.

Fill your black hull

And night blues,

Sultry moon-monsters.

Into the alabasters,

Barque of phosphor.

 

JOHN DARNIELLE CALLS
MARCO RUBIO’S TALLAHASSEE[6] OFFICE

 

Half the whole town gone for the summer

You

Window facing an ill-kept front yard

Road to the airport, two lanes clear

There is no schedule

There is no plan

We can fall back on prayers to summon the destroying angel

Plums on the tree heavy with nectar

Moon stuttering in the sky like a film stuck in a projector

 

 

A DISGRUNTLED COPYWRITER FOR THE VISIT PENSACOLA WEBSITE,
WHO MOONLIGHTS AS A POET, CALLS MARCO RUBIO’S PENSACOLA[7] OFFICE

 

homes that speak to us as humans.

an imaginary battle.

It’s in our nature to explore, build, and protect.

Visitors to Pensacola and Perdido Key can explore the ruins of ancient.

Millions of people are drawn here every year to delve.

Set one or more kids loose and they will eventually build a fort.

History.

There’s something about touring old military forts…

There are endless sites and stories to explore.

Wars at historic forts.

Walk in the footsteps of settlers and soldiers.

Stir up the occasional ghost at the lighthouse.

Ancestors lived.

We learn something about ourselves.

 

RYAN RIVAS CALLS

MARCO RUBIO’S WASHINGTON DC[8] OFFICE

 

What did you dream about, when you were little?

 

Was it Mexicans, born in Honduras,

Cuban upon arrival, wringing out dishrags in Little Havana?

Romantic rail riders, clinging to trains, hair tempest-tost?

A forest of limbs recovered by border patrol––

fodder for the new colossus?

You know,

the immigrant story?

 

There is more ocean now than ever before.

On a shore lined with wretched refuse

I am looking through the porthole of my condo.

Each morning the cart comes by for the bodies.

 

What does it mean to be American?

 

?

 

?

 

Shut the fuck up.

 

Have a beer with me, play a round of golf.

Let’s go deep-sea fishing for refugees.

Let’s eat at nationalist hamburger stands

and pretend to be white.

 

I think I could fall in love with you.

Your use of logical fallacies while pointing out my logical fallacies will eventually become endearing.

Let’s grow old together on a barge in the federal waters of Miami.

We’ll hang patriotic bunting

and try to discern the writing our fathers scrubbed so hard

to make our slates blank when they first arrived in this country.

We’ll look out at the ocean from our porch

and watch the bandwagons float by in pieces

and rank the great inaugural poets,

and the dictators who disappeared them.

 

 

[1] The Orlando section rearranges lines from “i Will Lov U 4Ever, Orlando” by Juan Felipe Herrera.

[2] The Jacksonville section rearranges lines from “A Poet to His Baby Son” by James Weldon Johnson.

[3] The Miami section rearranges lines from “Variations on a Text by Vallejo” by Donald Justice.

[4] The Tampa section consists of a quote from Marco Rubio’s website. Due to large weekly protests at Rubio’s Tampa office, the owner of the building where the office was located asked Rubio to move out.

[5] The Palm Beach section rearranges lines from “Fabliau of Florida” by Wallace Stevens.

[6] The Tallahassee section rearranges lines from “Tallahassee” by John Darnielle / The Mountain Goats.

[7] The Pensacola section rearranges lines from the Visit Pensacola website.

[8] The DC section samples phrases from “The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus.

 



Ryan Rivas is the publisher of Burrow Press, an independent organization based in Orlando. While this bio may not convey his enthusiasm for doing such cool stuff, he assures you he is sufficiently ecstatic about it.