BEHIND THE BLIND

The metronomic tick-tock
of your high heels on the pavement
makes me draw back my curtain
to search the rain-slicked night street,
but you’re already past
the kingdom of my sight…

GOOD FAITH

Put your best face forward. That’s a phrase you’ve heard—
I don’t know, can you estimate? Maybe 450 to 500 times
in your life thus far, whether in spoken or written form, or
other various media of some kind? Tonight was the first
time it made sense to me, though. I started off defrosting
a fridge. I ended up uncovering a body. That back gate
was nothing; just a shadowed archway near where we put
out the garbage and the recyclables. Suddenly, whether I
could break its’ lock in the next 20 seconds was everything.
Then the spotlights were on me. Put your best face
forward.

BUY IN

What choice did I have? My bag of tricks was
empty. I could either walk away now, or come
semi-clean. Half of a lot is still enough. Wait
another few hours, and all that info would wash
down the drain, and this little profit-based sermon
would come to nothing. Neither of us would have
anything to gain. God is my witness. Maybe he’d
like to look away.

A POINT & CLICK…

…& we’d have an off-shore account where
no one would ever bother us, a private island,
an incorruptible fire wall, a paradise, indivisible
under God. Why do I keep mentioning God?
I wish he’d stay out of this.

LIKE A SLEIGHT-OF-HAND HOUDINI…

…I’m hidden in plain sight, as undifferentiated
background noise, staying just outside the lid of
the not-all-seeing eye. So, the show goes on.
I hum a Waltz time. I’m a shadow coming in
for a slow landing, I’m a blur, a quick eclipse on
the video screen, I’m two bodies passing in flight.
Time to move…

UPGRADE

You hustle me up to the third floor, where only
the most moneyed vultures hold a perch, straight
past reception, littered with many a carcass that
died mid-translation, and into the executive suite,
to a red leather-bound chair with all strings
attached.

I catch myself for a split second, inside the gold-
framed mirror in the spotless private bathroom off
to one side. I give myself a high-five, and what
the hell, a year-end bonus. Such a rarified
atmosphere...

You put me in my seat and lean over me and tell
me not to panic as the emergency lights kick in.
You guide me through it, every step of the way...

THE VERDANT PLAIN…

makes a fine topical salve.
Apply liberally where forlorn.
The desert called; said,
“Give us our oasis back!”
Like we’d fall for that.
We’ve had sand in our eyes
and dust passing for the winds
of change for too long now,
we know a clear-cut bait-and-switch
when we see one. As the winds
howled and overtook us, I ground
that green to filament pulp,
left the high plains drifter himself
starving for product. I’m telling you,
it’s a buyer’s market…