Glenn Sheldon

Perpetual Holiday

St. Valentine has been left
for dead at the crossroads.
His nakedness doesn’t explain

his deafness. Dirt blown from
faraway farms slowly buries
him until, a year later, we need

him desperately. He is dusted
off and stuffed into a G-string,
taught table manners. Peace

isn’t what the world wants after
all—no, no. There is a rush towards
astonishment, as if one holiday is

enough to conquer the aches:
La Paz, vanished city, fails to turn
into a snappy greeting card.