I saw you unexpectedly on the street today. Though it was midday your eyes were dilated, and you seemed almost electrically charged with thought, with an increased speed of speaking: "I garden, I grill meat, I prowl the bars." But I was having difficulty listening. Your teeth were growing. A muscle spasmed against my diaphragm; I needed a bag of ice. Still, I could see those rooms with perfect clarity: the coat rack and bureau, the dinner plates with congealed meat, the flea market Piranesi, and the long mirrors like camera lenses freezing us as the boat-header gave you his final thrusts, preparatory to the cutting-in.
Copyright © 2012 by Henri Cole. Used with permission of the author.
Henri Cole was born in Fukuoka, Japan, in 1956 and raised in
Date Published: 2012-08-22
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/boat-header