Shanked on the Red Bed
by Susan Wheeler
The perch was on the roof, and the puck was in the air. The diffident were driving, and the daunted didn't care. When I came out to search for you the lauded hit the breeze On detonated packages the bard had built to please. The century was breaking and the blame was on default, The smallest mammal redolent of what was in the vault, The screeches shrill, the ink-lines full of interbred regret— When I walked out to look for you the toad had left his net. The discourse flamed, the jurors sang, the lapdog strained its leash— When I went forth to have you found the tenured took the beach With dolloped hair and jangled nerves, without a jacking clue, While all around the clacking sound of polished woodblocks blew. When I went out to look for you the reductions had begun. A demento took a shopgirl to a raisin dance for fun, And for you, for me, for our quests ridiculous and chaste The lead sky leered in every cloud its consummate distaste. The mayors queued for mug shots while the banner rolled in wind That beat at bolted windows and bore down upon the thin, And everywhere warped deliverers got bellicose and brave, When I walked out to find you in the reconstructed rave. The envelopes were in the slots and paperweights were flung. When I came down to seek you out the torrents had begun To rip the pan from handle and horizons from their shore, To rip around your heady heart looking there for more.