Winter 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 1 Poetry |

A Mere Handful of Years before Blessed Retirement

Does language birth vision or does vision birth language? Twitching terrifically, a hefty girl lurks at my office door & asks the chicken & egg question as she gnaws upon her severe, black-framed glasses & I lower my eyes & see a mongoose thrashing in her pants, set to strike the sleeping gray serpent of my soul. Lord. Lord. It's only her cell phone set to vibrate. Lord. Blessed be the buzzing haven it provides me when she turns to answer & I slip past her mindless field of vision & into my own mindlessness. I close the door & remind myself I'm getting paid for this. Lord, I'm getting paid for this…

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