In The World Without Us
there are no bags of oranges dropped
and rolling in the aisle, no Edsels, no Nazis,
no toenail clippers lost
beneath the cushions of the purple couch.
There could be a nebula or several trillion,
somewhere, who knows? But without an ear to hear
what might be said in what might be a forest
in what might be a world without end.
Who knows? That world is
clean, but not empty, only free of us.
In a world without us
there might be Kodiak bears
but not in zoos, no never zoos.
There are no henpecked Caspers, no shrews
but for the tiny gray mammal that you will never see.
There are no names in a world without us,
No Straits of Juan de Fuca, no Carbondale,
no Anatolia and at Ipanema: no girl and no beach either
In the world without us
no one gets a merit badge for tying a sheepshank knot,
no young girls put sheaves of lavender in their trousseaus.
There’s no wino under the bridge.
There’s no bridge nor footprints on the moon.
In a world without us
there is no Pennsylvania Turnpike.
So that could not be me age eight,
there with my parents in a Howard Johnson
eating scrambled eggs with ham
somewhere near Scranton.
What’s more: no bottle caps,
no butt kissing, no banal puns,
no Volvos, no Winston cigarettes.
No Lady Gaga, Lady Di or Lady Day.
Those who fret over our failed maturation.
take heart the place is better off without us.
In the world without us
nothing is outmoded,
There are no pull dates, no salt-water taffy,
no boxes with the ashes of our ancestors,
no Cheez-wiz, no Bud Lite.
In this lucky world there are no Chinese acrobats
with their caprioles and giddy twists.
Here is an empty screen,
an unwritten symphony,
a blank check, no ink.
There is no Billy Collins here to write you witty poems
about places you’ll never go on your vacation.
In a world without us when it rains no one gets wet.
and rolling in the aisle, no Edsels, no Nazis,
no toenail clippers lost
beneath the cushions of the purple couch.
There could be a nebula or several trillion,
somewhere, who knows? But without an ear to hear
what might be said in what might be a forest
in what might be a world without end.
Who knows? That world is
clean, but not empty, only free of us.
In a world without us
there might be Kodiak bears
but not in zoos, no never zoos.
There are no henpecked Caspers, no shrews
but for the tiny gray mammal that you will never see.
There are no names in a world without us,
No Straits of Juan de Fuca, no Carbondale,
no Anatolia and at Ipanema: no girl and no beach either
In the world without us
no one gets a merit badge for tying a sheepshank knot,
no young girls put sheaves of lavender in their trousseaus.
There’s no wino under the bridge.
There’s no bridge nor footprints on the moon.
In a world without us
there is no Pennsylvania Turnpike.
So that could not be me age eight,
there with my parents in a Howard Johnson
eating scrambled eggs with ham
somewhere near Scranton.
What’s more: no bottle caps,
no butt kissing, no banal puns,
no Volvos, no Winston cigarettes.
No Lady Gaga, Lady Di or Lady Day.
Those who fret over our failed maturation.
take heart the place is better off without us.
In the world without us
nothing is outmoded,
There are no pull dates, no salt-water taffy,
no boxes with the ashes of our ancestors,
no Cheez-wiz, no Bud Lite.
In this lucky world there are no Chinese acrobats
with their caprioles and giddy twists.
Here is an empty screen,
an unwritten symphony,
a blank check, no ink.
There is no Billy Collins here to write you witty poems
about places you’ll never go on your vacation.
In a world without us when it rains no one gets wet.
Matthew Michael Hanner’s poetry has appeared in Gargoyle, Rhino, Nimrod, Mudfish, and others. His recent books are October, Adriatica and, under the moniker Forbisher Mandangle, a French guide book, Le Bugue, Black Périgord & Beyond. His other interests are: gardening, travel, English croquet, French cooking, and Argentine tango.
The poem is an ironic rant in collision with a collection of images. It was triggered by the prompt from Sherry Wellborn “The world without us” and a word list of: sheaf, toe, capriole, henpeck strait, Kodiak, maturation, nebula, and outmoded. It was written quickly and then revised several times.
The poem is an ironic rant in collision with a collection of images. It was triggered by the prompt from Sherry Wellborn “The world without us” and a word list of: sheaf, toe, capriole, henpeck strait, Kodiak, maturation, nebula, and outmoded. It was written quickly and then revised several times.