Market Rate, and Siri, Where are the Snows of Yesteryear? by Gregory Crosby

The soldiers drifted back from the rout in a confusion
of companies, regiments, platoons, all mixed up, not unlike
the lines in a poem by John Ashbery. These things happen.
Consensus tends toward dullness: once agreed, we can all
move forward, an ocean liner no one wants to be on.
I silently told the old man who sketched my portrait
on the train, We're all in this together; he silently replied
I'm a Human not so much of New York as in New York.
He tore my profile from his notebook & asked for a ten.
Wherever you go, there's the front. Which means we're surrounded.
It's like we're all in Bastogne, shouting NUTS! to no one
in particular. You can't break a few eggs without making
an omelet. Whadda ya want, to live forever? Then do.
Happy Hour will still be here when you get back. The war, too.




Siri, Where are the Snows of Yesteryear?
In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes
that could save you 15% or more on car insurance.


Gregory Crosby is the author of the chapbook Spooky Action at a Distance (2014, The Operating System); his poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Court Green, Epiphany, Copper Nickel, Leveler, Sink Review, Ping Pong, and Rattle. In 2002, as a poetry consultant to the City of Las Vegas, he was instrumental in the creation of the Lewis Avenue Poets Bridge, a public art project in downtown Las Vegas.


His dedicatory poem for the project, “The Long Shot,” was subsequently reproduced in bronze and installed in the park, and was included in the 2008 anthology
Literary Nevada: Writings from the Silver State (University of Nevada Press). He is co-editor of the online poetry journal Lyre Lyre and currently teaches creative writing at Lehman College, City University of New York.