the question of calling police
the neighbors are rushing hand to
fist first into an argument,
equivalent to a foreign tongue
full of slash & slang. second octave
rising upon the first floor, tracked.
we flinch back
to october, when the two lovers
were not next door, when the knob
stuck on the inside of my
parents' modest suburban
captivity. like the who-knows-why
mouth of an owl, i'd shut
open & distract. maybe catch a snake
in my claws. let the indoor lights
fail like singing flesh.
now i pull socks to knees while legs
buckle into the seat of my own
familiar lapse. we toast to new boys drinking
side by side, windows unlocked
and facing into dual dining rooms.
we look everywhere for some sort of
law against this distance, pretending
none of us can touch
gently.
november 2005
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