Gay does a remarkable job of sneaking up on you. A poem is one thing, and then it is another, and then it is both – the two topics (one is often nature) blend easily because of an overall absence of punctuation. And that’s one of the problems here. Similar to Billy Collins, too many of these poems take on the same pitch. A few, like the title poem, stand out. Gay is fond of the quotidian hip fake. Poems that, from their title, seem to be about the ordinary, turn into more. The titles are deceptive – “sharing with the ants,” “becoming a horse.”
Interesting poems here, but not wholly engaging.
Here. Read this one. It’s plenty.