The Dream of Someone Spitting in Her Mouth
Tubercular god, here in the night the
bric-a-brac clogs up the tube.
Or the tunnel, as it’s known in these parts.
But that’s hyperbole, reader, I’ll spare you the rest.
You worry it all the way to the window —
its lackluster panes, Meredith and Junior
only blips on the green, by the trees,
pounding each other with leaves, while
the bright belly moon its wife-beater removes.
I come for the Largo, the indigent said.
The boxwood knobs spangle its bush.
They only seem random, but in the ticket rush you understand
what was meant by Door on the right.
Game show globs hard to rub off.
Do her this favor. Go out to the candy machine in the hall
and bring her a Mars,
then she’ll be up for more Lear.
Susan Wheeler, New York, March 2000, photo courtesy Poetry Societey of America
Susan Wheeler is the author of four books of poems, Ledger, Source Codes, Bag ‘o’ Diamonds and Smokes, and of a novel, Record Palace.
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