“We’re still in the safety of November”
she says from the iron clad argumentation of a warm green sweater
but all the sweaters in the world didn’t help Fallujah and believe me, that place is like Mr. Roger’s closet.
my eyesore eyes morse code a slow SOS in response
hadn’t the Edmund Fitzgerald its saints?
Our Lady watched the Three Sisters meet upon iron red railings
and Baby Jesus sat in Dallas waving placidly to passing traffic
so what chance do I stand?
her appeal to ‘alternate universes’ doesn’t mean anything
when I’ve already gone ahead and ruined them all from
the comfort of October
but she sure looks secure-what gods must she be in cahoots with? Green Sweatered Saturn?
Office Coffee Shiva?
There’s no 5th draft movie script on her desk, I bet
no deadlines that correspond directly to her sense of well being and worth
I imagine a new scene that I’ll only take out again later
where the movie’s hero sleeps an entire night without one nightmare
of a red X on a calendar
not because the red X on calendars is cliche but because the protagonist is
Aztec and some social conventions don’t translate well.

Ryan McGivern