Set Up

too thin the red-bound book
unfolded in his hands
shaking white with blue anticipation
but a voice of the bravest mirage
echoing the pauses
in a juggle of um’s and ah’s
the irregularity of reality is revealed
in a little girl’s dream kitchen

she hesitates first
to turn her back to the dark avatar
the second, to walk away
so she turns her head
one last time, for the first time
to see her reflection in his green-river eyes
a mix of admiration, thanks, and regret

shelves rise, fall and grow back
but through them they catch each other again
through a veil of thick, black, Indian-girl hair
and a coalition of light waves and sound fibers

this is how the dream ends:
with a paralyzing stare
into cold, hollow, ice-blue--
all the vividness of shivering--eyes
hidden behind curtains of locked extensions
straightened with fatigue and grease

the look: desperate
in it she feels him sing his apology
had he only known her sooner

they could have been something
instead, "see what i'm into?"--
the only spoken, his voice choking
as he applies the chain to air and throat