New Yorker Poems, July 24, 2017


Natalie Shapero – They Said It Couldn’t Be Done

So sorry about the war—we just kind of
wanted to learn how to swear
in another language, and everyone knows

the top method is simply to open
fire and listen to what people yell.

Read rest of poem 


John Skoyles – My Mother, Heidegger, and Derrida

Educated at a school in Queens
whose slim roster of celebrated alums

boasts Don Rickles number one,
my mother knew little about art,

but she took me to a show
where she withdrew into private air

Read rest of poem

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