(some thoughts on) The Fertility of Turtles

Not being conversant in 'critique', I accept the notes below may constitute utter bollocks - but they may also reflect the extent to which poetry can capture the imagination of the reader. I've recently read a host of comments in the discussion thread regarding 'bad poetry'. For me, bad poetry is stuff written and published for the exclusive benefit of the writer, to fulfill a personal need, with no regard for the reader. How do you identify a writer's motives? Well, I have no idea - that's as far as I got :> Perhaps it's a gut feeling, although the comment process usually proves to be a solid indicator of attitude.

So, anyway - a personal appreciation/exploration of...
[featuring annoying brackets/parentheses/slashes/sundry punctuation marks - question marks inevitably dominate]

The Futility of Turtles - Austin Gorsuch  [in Aesthetic Psychosis]

Title - two aspects...does it make me want to read the poem? The Futility of Turtles? Why? I have no idea, but I care because it's a statement, and

I'm a sceptic - so that's a 'yes'.
Does it say something meaningful about the [purpose of the] poem? How should I know? Revisit...

The car did not stop. Wheels
continued to spin as my father
and I looked to the curb -
the struggling turtle
attempting to work its way
back onto its feet.

"The car did not stop." Classic first line delivery - monosyllabic, abrupt. Impact - the importance of first impressions/primacy. A line with
consequences, preceded by [dramatic?] caesura/endash.
"The struggling turtle" - (intention behind the use of) definite article (i.e. not a/any old struggling turtle, but the/this one) - implying that the turtle in question has been noted/noticed prior to the reader's attendance, an integral part of this story.
So, was it struggling before the (assumed) incident with the car? Or is the car incidental, yet also relevant in metaphoric terms? Does this epitomise the futility of turtles? Did it merely fall off the pavement and tip over into the road, onto its back? [no-one else to blame, or maybe shit just happens]
If the result of an RTA, wouldn't this have been 'the turtle, struggling, attempting to...'?
So perhaps - turtle struggling, car doesn't stop = life goes on, wheels continue to spin, and the reader constructs a drama to accommodate
meaningful interpretation?

Its legs, splayed to the sunlight,
flailed in the crisp breeze
of a day just beginning.

Observation - no intervention, no interpretation, attitudes or feelings expressed, purely (superficially) descriptive (detached?), with no indication as to where this is going, beyond 'a day just beginning' (there's more to come..)
Suggestion of assonance (splayed, flailed) and onomatopoeia (crisp breeze)
Contrast (re. 'Later') - sunlight, crisp breeze = a fresh, new day [but with portent...]

Later, I went out with Mother.
She told me stories about how
she had been dreaming
of being raped, of shooting
her husband, and as I tuned
the voice of convolution
into a studded white noise,

Mother capitalized, no 'possessive' pronoun. Formal/impersonal? Alien?
Contrast between 'my father and I', + two stanzas of shared experience - and 'Later, I went out with Mother.' - stark, unembellished one-line [non-] event.
Stories - fantasies/self-indulgence, emphasised by combining 'stories' with 'dreaming' (intentional redundancy).
Contrast 'dreaming' with violence of rape and shooting.
Joined-up writing [imagery]...tuned/voice/white noise.
Convolution (compare revolution/evolution - progress/outcome)
Studded? Sardonic allusions to...? Ornamental? Hard (rivetted, but not rivetting?). Star-studded? (many connotations e.g. poetic aesthetics & media)
Also, interesting (re. discussion thread on use of commas) to see end-of-line comma combined with double line break [stanza division] - says 'this is connected, but' (?) (hesitation - example of the art of [benign] manipulation?)
And finally (yeah - right)...'being raped, shooting her husband'. The relationship, or not (and the relationship) - repression/distortion > inverse displacement & aggression - fantasy/futility.

I began to imagine her,
on her back, her arms reaching
in futility for the sky
from the dark recesses
of her verdant shell.

The turtle metaphor doesn't appear out of nowhere, we've already 'seen' the 'real' turtle, so this readily paints a picture and forms a strong
impression.
"I began to imagine" - where/how far would this have gone? Sentiments of (unknown) depth.
The 'Mother'/turtle pose - portrays helplessness/hopelessness, but also consistent with a 'rape' scenario and even suggestive of someone having been shot? (irony/poetic justice? - hmm)
But the BIG one - 'verdant'. Verdant?! That's a flag - ambush ahead :] Too clichéd to be anything else? Perhaps, but also marked as lush, fertile [in imagination only? A Mother, so fertile somewhere within the shell of pre-history].
Considering implications of 'lush', but probably too far removed.
Verdant qualifying shell - no, too involved for my limited resources.

I laughed (foolishly).

Why foolishly? Shame? Embarrassment? Indifference towards the plight of the turtle? Applying the turtle metaphor to Mother? The mocking of

Mother's dreams? Painting the shell green? Or was it foolish to laugh - Mother is looking at me like I'm weird/stupid/disrespectful. Pay attention!
More misdirection? Ha! How stupid is that - making such an elementary error. (which one?)

After all, her shell
has no color.

"After all" - seemingly innocuous, but replete with overhanging meaning here.
Conclusion, whether explicit or implicit - as important as first lines [recency, post-hiatus & the classic gestalt favourite 'closure'] even when misunderstood, or a complete mystery, as long as it looks/sounds/feels like a conclusion.
So, even [extended] metaphorical turtles have shells & shells have colour - which leaves a further [nested] metaphor...
[empty] shell = no [quality of/purpose in] life = no colour?

And the title...The Futility of Turtles...that's a 'yes'.
Final note: If you're still awake - really, you should get out of your shell more often :>
Final, final note: I always attempt to approach every poem as being entirely fictional, irrespective of what I may or may not know (if anything) about the writer. Assumptions lure, attribution theory rules...