Thursday, May 15, 2014


If I am not
the man 
that I thought—what then? So much

the better—perhaps
to shave 
such bedraggled shadows off!

Who would even 
notice me there
I wonder?—a daffy pink tall boy, olive-eyed 

lanky, domestic; I'll pick
out a bowl
and populate it 
with apples
and water with sugar 
and cover from flies—and feel so small
and satisfied;

I will genuflect 
before high freezers 
and prepare toaster waffles 
or stoop low—to get water 
for my blueberry girls; so much the better!

who would notice,
or listen,
or read? Who ever even heeds
a word that I utter!—other than the careful 
company I target

privately—in short,
to lob 
the word family at?

Kate would still 
marry me;
Lucy will wag; I'll pick my nose and eat it
and laugh in cutoff pants;

so much the harder, in fact
than that man 
that I'm mistaken for—and so much 

the stronger—speaking of that!
ought now 

to stand—this imaginary case 
for my 
stay of execution!

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