You haven’t told me the ending yet
but everyday things fall out of the cabinets.
Boys explode into wits, lying half-naked
under a glass sky. In extreme circumstances
all of this might be real, a hard thinking night
fledged away from the branch where it blossomed.
Everyone is at the bar and hearts are made of soap,
laid tight in hose, blanched-nets and feathered mares
are swinging to the slap jack. This is a glorious night
but I have too many irrational fears about death
so I don’t take a shot, don’t take your shot,
and nothing happens. Your everyday life
is strung up on the back fence in the morning:
empty your bowl, empty your cup, stop talking.
Eszter Takacs is an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in elimae, ILK Poetry, Full of Crow, DIAGRAM, Barn Owl Review, Phoebe, and Word Riot. She knows you better than you think.