I lie in evidence of truth

Mama says you have to fall on hard times 

To know how to live; she says I don’t know 

How hard life bears down on adults, “Damn near 

Will kill ya just to live,” she says. No doubt, 

Mama. I lie in evidence of truth. 

I believe her sayings now, but I can’t 

Trust the John Keats poem from my lessons: 

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever . . .”; I 

 Would believe Mr. Keats, but I think he 

Died three years after he wrote the poem? 

So fo . . . fo . . . “For ever?” my voice stutters. 

You see, I don’t exist; youth is fleeting, 

More a puzzle than “a joy,” Mr. Keats. 

I ponder your poem even in death . . . 

[A. Van Jordan (1965- } 'INT./EXT.—1919', from The Cineaste: Poems]