Health and Safety
This is how it begins: that loop of flex
could hook the foot. No wonder my eyes go
minesweeping the floor for trip-hazards, slip-
spills. The lead would insinuate itself
around my neck, wind tighter and tighter,
garrotte. No, you can't afford to relax
a second. I spot the turned-up corner
of rug, the chrome and clear glass table
beyond. I've seen Final Destination
1 to 5. I know just how easily
these things happen. Death's just the other side
of the mirror. The phone sits with its arms
folded. The television has its mind on
other things. I know the audio books
talk about me. The door wants my fingers
in its hinges. The faulty iron hisses
and steams because it needs its livid imprint
on my chest. The shock could give one asthma
overnight. Stay back. See that kitchen knife?
I tell you, it wants my carotid artery
severed. The gas oven would like my head
on a baking tray. That toy dumper truck
on the stairs would double as a roller-
skate. See me cartwheel. Soon this building
will be fluttering, wreathed, with police tape.
Even your handbag is a booby-trap
set. While a whisky or two might calm the nerves,
everyone knows alcohol turns tragedy
to slapstick. Don't worry. I've made my peace.
I know exactly how this ends. I'll be
lucky if I make it out of here alive.
[Previously published in HWA Poetry Showcase Volume III]
Dregs
Indebted to
This grey zone
Of existence
We are both
Confined here
Prisoners of
Circumstance:
I am gatekeeper
To his closed world.
Evidence survives
That we are
Still people
Our proof is
Exhibit A:
One paper
Coffee cup
Offered by
A gentleman
Robbed of powers;
To hold doors,
Lend his coat
Or light a cigarette
At his personal best
When we both
Know his worst:
In this sharing
Giver takes back
All he has lost
In his captivity.
Manners make
This man; he sees
Beyond the uniform
Just as one sip
Of lukewarm coffee
Is not Koolaid.
