They chattered trifles at the door.

   – Tennyson

They talked disaster at the door,

upsetting a maid; strangely thrilling,

perhaps, my old butler

with memories of Cawnpore.

Unseen at the turn of the hall, I considered

then reconsidered restoring order;

if shortly everything were to be war

it would be one of movement, not

of fixed positions. From the safe I took

my good old Webley, filled it

and all the pockets of my vest and coat.

The boys, at school, would be valued

pikesmen, though not chieftains, in some band.

My wife (I believe she was writing a letter)

would be queen of this postal zone

if it were not burnt down.

I gazed one last time, wasting time,

at my library, with annoyance:

so much of this could have been said

more simply or not at all.

Had a thought of going to the club

to watch them bellow and eat each other,

then left. A fierce wind swept

the street, which briefly overcame me:

these houses, innocent and ugly,

coursing over the hills, horses rearing

and crying ... I would have liked to see

skies filled with airships, taut wires bringing power;

now they were not to be. More fitting

such hopes should die in winter than in summer.

 Author of two book-length narrative poems, THE ADVENTURE and HAPPINESS, both Story Line Press; the former reissued 2022 by Red Hen Press. Two collections of shorter poems, A POVERTY OF WORDS, (Prolific Press, 2015) and LANDSCAPE WITH MUTANT (Smokestack Books, UK, 2018). Pollack has appeared in Salmagundi, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Fish Anthology (Ireland), Magma (UK), Bateau, Fulcrum, Chiron Review, Chicago Quarterly Review, etc. Online, poems have appeared in Big Bridge, Hamilton Stone Review, BlazeVox, The New Hampshire Review, Mudlark, Rat’s Ass Review, Faircloth Review, Triggerfish, etc.