|
Laugh Tracks |
Your laugh:
Steel shavings. Rust.
A rasp drawn too slowly
over the lobe of my left ear.
Phantom.
Your laugh—
burnt-dregs coffee,
derisive fastball pitch
aimed square between each batter’s eyes.
Punchline.
Your laugh
kept me up nights
like a horror movie:
hidden beneath a comforter,
helpless.
Your laugh
was a new moon
that never filled again,
midnight path you only followed
halfway.
Your laugh
was always last,
a harsh act to follow.
Nothing so broken should sound so
final.
Your needle wit would puncture my alarm.
I left when I found laugh tracks on my arm.
copyright 2005
Lea
Deschenes |
