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FURTHER READING
Poems by Dan Chiasson
Thread
Poems about Desire and Wanting
Acts of Mind
by Catherine Barnett
At a Window
by Carl Sandburg
Continuity
by A. R. Ammons
Driven by a Strange Desire
by Mónica de la Torre
El Beso
by Angelina Weld Grimké
For the Man with the Erection Lasting More than Four Hours
by John Hodgen
If There Is Something to Desire, 9, 17, 18
by Vera Pavlova
Monody to the Sound of Zithers
by Kay Boyle
Photographs of the Interiors of Dictators' Houses
by Albert Goldbarth
Reprise
by Deborah Brown
Screening Desire
by R. Zamora Linmark
The Forecast
by Michael Dumanis
The Problem of Hands
by Louise Mathias
To George Sand: A Desire
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Poems About Sports
A Boy Juggling a Soccer Ball
by Christopher Merrill
After Skate
by Carol Muske-Dukes
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
by James Wright
Baseball and Writing
by Marianne Moore
Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Days of Me
by Stuart Dischell
Fishing on the Susquehanna in July
by Billy Collins
Night Baseball
by Michael Blumenthal
Séance at Tennis
by Dana Goodyear
The Bee
by James Dickey
The First Olympic Ode [excerpt]
by Pindar
The Trouble Ball [excerpt]
by Martín Espada
To An Athlete Dying Young
by A. E. Housman
Train-Mates
by Witter Bynner
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Tackle Football

 
by Dan Chiasson

Snow up to our waists and coming down still.
There was a field here once, when we began.
We marked the end zones and set up the goals.

Now nobody can even move, much less tackle.
I am Ganymede fleeing on a temple frieze.
We stand around like lovesick Neanderthals.

We’re Pompeian before Pompeii was hot.
We have the aspect of the classic dead
Or of stranded, shivering astronauts.

It was early in the era of the pause button:
We paused and paused the afternoons away
Indoors, blasting our ballistic erections

At the blurred bikinis of celebrities,
Then, splaying on the linoleum floor,
Awaited the apportioned pizza delivery.

Now, someone has paused us, or so it appears,
But they didn’t pause the snow, or the hour:
As the one gets higher, the other gets later.
About this poem:
"The VCR became a fixture in my friends' houses at precisely the moment in our lives we got extremely horny. The pause button allowed for sustained scrutiny of, say, Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High—but there was a cost: her image became grainy and indistinct. When you possess something, inevitably it loses its lustre. The snow falling is Frost, the idealized Vermont; the pizza and the linoleum are truer to the Vermont of my particular childhood."

—Dan Chiasson






Copyright © 2013 by Dan Chiasson. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on December 30, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.
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