A Plan in Case of Morning

By Phill Provance

A reimagining of what it is to be a man today that is simultaneously memoir, poetry, and verse novel.

Constructed from poems in a wide variety of forms-from metrical, syllabic and free-verse received forms to nonces, composition by field, and prose poetry-A Plan in Case of Morning is a contemporary hero tale that is at onc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vine Leaves Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781925965414

Phill Provance

Phill Provance was born in an Appalachian valley town of 5,000 people to a Kirby salesman and a welfare caseworker who divorced when he was four. Subsequently spending his early years in a trailer on his grandparents' farm, he witnessed the same alcoholism, drug abuse, mental illness, domestic violence, and poverty that figure into most stereotypes of Appalachia. Yet, at the same time, he also experienced the genuine devotion and kindness of people whose only hope, often, is sticking together. From his father, a recovering alcoholic, he learned humility, patience in the face of his own faults, and unconditional love; from his mother-now a PhD. but once a single mom raising him and his brother on a part-time state employee's salary-he learned the sort of drive that saw him master three languages and not only attend Bethany College and Oxford University as an undergraduate but also go on to complete his MFA in Poetry and Fiction at WV Wesleyan College. Since leaving home at eighteen, he's published comics, nonfiction, journalism, and poetry in numerous newspapers, journals, and magazines throughout the English-speaking world. A Plan in Case of Morning is his third book and his first full-length collection of poetry. His other works include the nonfiction popular history A Brief History of Woodbridge, New Jersey (The History Press 2019) and the poetry chapbook The Day the Sun Rolled Out of the Sky (Cy Gist Press 2010). His second full-length work of nonfiction, Postcards of McHenry County, Illinois, is forthcoming from Arcadia Publishing in 2021. Visit the author: www.phillprovance.com

Book preview

What woman wants a fireman,

a plan in case of morning,

a man with hands like Hoover Dams

who makes an easy hundred grand,

who trades his Viper for a van,

a man who’s, frankly, boring?

I

Going Out

Nowhere was his home,

But swiftly he went his way.

Many a lonesome road he roamed—

Or so the books about him say.

– Sir Gawayn and þe Grene Knyȝt

Chicago Tableau

For D. Revell

It started with an umbrella.

Striped pink and green with

a mangled frame, ribs missing,

shaft bent, it lay on a piano

beside a top and yo-yo.

It started as a man dressed

in pinstriped pants, white shirt,

red bowtie and suspenders

frowned, his mussed, blond bangs

matted to his forehead.

It started with a woman,

the fine curls on the back of her neck

as it craned over the keyboard

and her slender hands poised over

the keys, as if debating

which to depress.

It started with the piano’s

walnut sheen—and a vase with

crisp irises, the yo-yo and blouse

and a stiff, gray cat by the pedals

all seemed to gasp in unison.

But it started like this

and ended like this.

For then there was a flash of white light

at the crosswalk, and a flood

of feet and arms washed down

Wabash, bowling me away,

and still, to this hour, I have no clue

what those mannequins were doing.

Gen Y Love Poem

When I text you,

Platonic kissy face, rest

assured I do not

mean, I love you, so much

as I love the halfhearted

ironic gesture, rest

assured I am still

lean-faced as any

dust devil, still

willing to devour

you, still ready to

drag you up

a long flight

of Chicago high

-rise steps, club or

cocktail in hand,

rest

assured I still mean

I love listening to you

talk of Tartars and

Saladin and how

Mehmed II compares

favorably with

Erdogan. Trust me,

my love

is still trying

to glimpse

the titles of others’

books around wrought

-iron chairs and sunny

dry-eyed Ficuses

on any veranda

under any tricolor

awning in Wicker Park

with you—

which is to say

I am still in it

for myself,

to keep you there

is still the mystery

of whether I will

stay.

The Poet as the Sea

[At the Kursaal by Southend Pier]

How nice would it be to be

the sea when you first take a

dip in spring. Sploshing full of

watery thoughts, I’d feel you

plunge in,

then race my current towards the

beach, to rinse you in warm tides,

the whishing seagulls drifting in

in languid, long, low dives.

Of course,

what modesty exists between

a swimmer and