The Manchester Review
Daisy Fried
Three Poems
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      Twenty years ago, I squeezed
onto the edge of the Knights of Columbus
stage to escape a lot of leaping, bashing bodies
as Hüsker Du did “Eight Miles High”
and Jeff shielded May with his tallish
body and she slam-danced inside the frame
of him. That’s all. Afterwards on the liquid
city street the screeching still running
up and down my veins, I was going to help
May when she was going to smash her head
into the belly of a frat boy who laughed
at us except after all he didn’t
want to get into it and walked away.
The world’s repeatedly saved by people
whether right or wrong just goddammit
not wanting to get into it.