Brad Reyes © 2004 All Rights Reserved
The Absolute Monarchy of You Is Proved to Be False
A man on the train talking about his aunt’s four tumors,
one as big as a four-month pregnancy,
is the exact opposite of tocopheryl acetate.
It is also an inexact antonym for:
star light, star bright, first star . . . .
It can be further seen as an approximation
of the inverse of baby robins divided by two,
sometimes three, blushing crocuses, (crocii?).
The worm wants the soil, the early bird wants
the worm, the silt or sand or loam wants.
You thought I was going to say
“the silt or sand or loam wants _________.”
But the truth of the matter is they simply want.
Want whatever can be cycled through
their dusty throats.
At this point throat could be an inexact rhyme
with inchoate. Not that I want to leave
the topics of spurned love, blocked colons
and bituminous circus performers
who on Wednesdays eat big bowls of:
Monday, Monday, la, la, la, la, la,
how could you leave . . . .
Ah, yes, back to leaving, or rather not really
quite talking about the subject of leaving
being eclipsed by phone conversations
and all those faces not belonging to me
of the inevitable other passengers morning brings.
Dawn Tefft lives in Chicago where, she says, she “regularly writes things down,” and where she teaches composition at Columbia College and Roosevelt University. She won an Academy of American Poets Prize at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, and has poems published or forthcoming in Mudlark, Cream City Review, Melic Review, Karamu, and Lullwater Review.
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