In the basement, jars, jars placed everywhere.
I hide as W.S. looms portly, sprawls around
their gaping mouths that swallow the air
slovenly. I want to speak, but in my underwear,
I fear his gaze. I knocked one over. He found
in that jar (and in all the jars everywhere)
emptiness to spill here and there.
Be that jar, he urged. So I, on the ground
jar-like, gaped my mouth, swallowed the air.
Like this, Mr. Stevens? From the bottom stair
he ogled. Yes, Matthew, like that, round
upon the ground, as these jars everywhere.
I took dominion from his stare
rose up to the jars that surround,
their gaping mouths swallowing the air,
said, I am the jar, Wallace, gray and bare!
He adjusted his tie with homicidal care.
He approached through jars scattered everywhere.
He gaped his mouth. He swallowed the air.
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Matt – I really enjoyed your poem. I know it will stay with me for a long time. Congrats on the baby!
Warm regards — “B”