Distract Us (poem)
Distract Us
She hadn’t got the chance to finish
her story, the corner fire let, if gas might do no worse
than burn blue, be. Let night fall then, somewhat like
in hue, dusk’s velvet box creak its hinge,
evening solitaire and satellite its chippy twin,
or evil, attic-rummage legacies enough
smelling like bath powder harboring
surprise endings under a liquid fresh-glossed
as Knox Blox in a casserole dish
Devoid of the curious fingerprinting
Her story, its pathos wanting chance
to keen its eyes in recognition of
Acquainted hatred’s funeral shoes
Shoot paced-off bullets with a will
To damn your life
Hearing the old voice muttering
she stood to leave but pinched by a pocket
Oh, are we here alone, you and I
Oh, was it me you were speaking to?
I apologize, can I bring a book
Do you want a tray
Do you want the clock in your hands
Near your face
To scream into its gears the thefts
The blame for staying in your chair
Sneer by sneer wound tight in inexpressive
purse marks spike your lips a
scoreboard of mail coming late
appointments made dis by hours’ wait
habits shared with friends gone to reward
Killing Frost
The Tunnel
(2019, Stephanie Foster)