Prompted by The Void Magazine
Infomercial
She’s
been watching me,
infomercial-light
tracking
across
my face.
Nothing
clicks like a clutch
of
insects. Mute. Something’s there.
Swivel-eyes
come up empty.
She’s
been following my
series
of reruns.
She
knows I’ll never use a gun
or
stroke her hair.
Beyond
suspicion now,
I get
myself half hard
while
she stuffs another
zucchini
through the juicer.
She
makes the offer
looking
me dead in the eye.
She
wants me too.
The
channel breaking up—
contact
service provider.
It’s because I know
she wants me to order now.
At 4:18
am— each eye a black
screen
of restless
light,
programing in progress cuts
back in
from the blue.
Every
channel’s on—
in high
definition.
These are wonderful.
ReplyDeleteI like how you have all the photos on your blog. Btw, interesting poem.
ReplyDelete