Luke Buckham

by Best Poem

Portrait of my Father as a Dead Fish

)you’re floating in wrong directions, again dad(I don’t have
a hand for yours to grab)your eye
is so dry in its stare, pike(I once had a mouth for you
[now it’s going dry like your sight](the plate is soaring
under you toward, a rumor of light)I once had all to myself
the corner of a field square, as suns are round(th
is is the terrible end of all our dreams)th
is is a milky way with a black hole in the middle
hurling us around(this is a dad on beer)

Luke Buckham was born on June 6th, 1980 to religious fanatics in a tiny New York village called Inwood, which is located within the larger town of Hempstead. His father and his godfather both sported large beards, and he himself, perhaps influenced by their early proximity to his life, now wears a large and hearty beard himself. His grandfather, in stark contrast, has never once grown a beard in 78 years of earthly life, despite possessing what is reputed to be an extremely thick fiber of facial hair. Luke has been writing poetry since he was about 17 years of age, having been at that time inspired by Smashing Pumpkins and T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland” to begin thusly expressing himself, thereby disqualifying himself for any real shot at the American Dream. He lives in Keene, New Hampshire, where he regularly contributes articles to a local libertarian paper called The Keene Free Press.

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