The voice from the radio announces the latest suicide
somewhere in the world, a bombing. And I realize I suffer
from a lack of imagination. You must die

the imperative and in proximity humans died.
For her birthday I bought my lover a candle snuffer.
The voice from the radio announces the latest suicide

bombing as news, which I'm glad it is I must confide.
More newsworthy than my neighbor's backfiring muffler.
From a lack of imagination you must die.

I wonder what factor knowing the blues inside
seashells might've played. Imagining this is tougher.
The voice from the radio announces the latest suicide

bombing along with stalling housing starts, steady homicide
rates and the latest from Capitol Hill. This is a buffer
for my lack of imagination. You must die—

one way to respond to, We'll push you aside.
I'm somewhere between the hustlers and shufflers.
The voice from the radio announces the latest suicide
and from a lack of imagination you must die.

About the Poet

Sean Hill is the author of Blood Ties & Brown Liquor (UGA Press, 2008). His awards include fellowships from Cave Canem, The MacDowell Colony, the University of Wisconsin, and a Stegner Fellowship from Stanford University. His poems have appeared in Callaloo, Ploughshares, DIAGRAM, Tin House, and numerous journals, and in several anthologies including Black Nature. He lives in Bemidji, Minnesota. More information, as well as poems, can be found at www.seanhillpoetry.com.