Yoked to what? To whom? Calibration. Checkmate. Thunderous blowhard, tiny tea kettle. Boom. Bastion at the market, flashlight mimicry. Look at my phrase making, batting eyes. Whose hand do you hold? Whose hand do you want? Enough of this, ruiner. What’s the gift of talk, talk, talk. Where’re your minions, battle stations. Take out your troubled photocopies and burn the Pilgrim’s kiss. There’s only one story. It always ends.
Copyright © 2018 by Ada Limón. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 28, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.