Poetry

Lost in the midnight stillness, my mother/ 
rises to dress and begin another/ 
chilly day. She crosses the moonlit floor. 

“This restaurant has a fine ambulance.”/
What my friend, of course, must have/
meant was that this restoration/
had a fine ambience,

I order another drink and/
decide not to kill them, even/
in my imagination.

October, a woman and a boy, a tumor/
overtaking his brain, draw pictures/
in the waiting room.

Before my pupils gape oh in unison,/
I find a seat with the semi-sighted

Big leg bones/
of cows sawed/
into round sections

You opened this door. Forced it back/ 
on its hinges, drove in the thin wedge, saying/
“I may need to enter at a moment’s notice.”