we need people
to chew their food with their mouths open.

we need people
to punch it.

we need people
to take care of the rats in the attic.

once that’s finished, we’re going to need
people
to assess the roads and their conditions,

and in order to do that
we’re going to need other people

to soothe the wailing infant in the backseat,
to remind us the name of that wildflower,
to at least give us a little hint.

we need people to secure people
in the rest area.

we cannot predict the weather
without people, nor can an empty can
of gas get hoofed on down the shoulder.

without them, who else could tell us
where we need to go?

we need people to stand in fields feeling the sun on their hair and teeth.

up on billboards,
laughing inside gas stations.

to climb a ladder
you need at least one person.

to beg for a job
you need at least two.

the expansiveness of the country
was advertised solely by people,

so we need people
to pony up.

we need people
to knock the starter with a can of beans.

we need people to go on and

—otherwise we need people to plan funerals,
to smooth out the asphalt, to sign the card

and say a little something.

we need people
to put four warm burgers in their paper bag.

and more people to flip at the splotch of mayo,
lack of napkin,

we need more and more people to turn on
their brights, offer the dying last rites,
bet that’s your problem right there

as they take a look under the hood,
stop everything, and listen to this song.

we need people for this to work.

—

Henry Goldkamp lives in New Orleans, where he acts as co-organizer of The Splice Poetry Series. His work appears or is forthcoming in the minnesota review, Afternoon Visitor, Notre Dame Review, Narrative, Indiana Review, DIAGRAM, Denver Quarterly, and Best New Poets 2021. His public art projects have been covered by NPR and Time. More at henrygoldkamp.com.