Torsade Literary Space The Bull’s-Eye (poem)
The Bull’s-Eye
They want only the small farmers and the clock punchers
The men who know good fit and sound advice
And the price of the American suit
They want a morning of mail exchange and an afternoon of lunches
The organization man who aims to be a profit to his friends
Consults his wallet-card
Of metric equivalences, state capitals and deadly signs
His necktie warns that he has made a great mistake
The fisted cloud’s eye and the bull’s-eye
The passenger’s grey-tinted daze
Through shatterproof glass peers a face half-cindered
The heart tendered
A chicken-heart in a pool of calcined fat
But the venturing salvationist
Reads there a state of purity
Anguish indistinguishable from grace
His wife’s ill-fitting dress
Has been reduced
To buttons, a scattering serene as the Pleiades
The seventh sister glimpsed and hidden, meets the searcher’s eye
She winks
Did he see? And does this mean?
The farmer’s wife has sold them all for rhinestones
You may go and try again
Unlock a door that waits to take you in
The Bull’s-Eye
Buy Mystery Plays on Amazon
(2016, Stephanie Foster)