Poem of the Month
Tabagie Arsenault, 1920–1972

By Marc Plourde

Published on April 2, 2017

Arsenault’s Tobacco Magazines Novelties is closing:
everyone has locked arms and is dancing.
The Arsenaults have given away flags, trinkets,
greeting cards from the ’40s. Everyone dances
so that the floor shakes like the floor of a boat
while musicians huddle in a corner,
hardly noticing the audience,
and young men shouldering film cameras
as they circle the dancers
record for reasons known to film students
a rum bottle changing hands,
the singer’s face, the girl next to me,
her blue eyelids and fingernails —
and there’s a small dog here unseen by the cameras;
as the floor shakes, as the floor rolls, he jumps
straight up and barks at the noise everywhere.

More Poetry

I’m Dog. Who Are You?

People who thought differently were called worms, dogs, traitors. – from an article in The New York ...

Retreating Ice

Count on it, every spring
you will find the river again.

Rocks at the edge will re-emerge
like loaves of bread salvaged from your freezer.

Press

Indeed you miss the point, my friend. It does stand stubbornly guarding mile after mile of soft and useless dust and wind out of the north with a low whine and the lying mouth of the news— the bitch!—the words and weather both are cutting.