Search This Blog

4/15/2018

Open House

I think you would
like this place.

Shower water turns cold to shock.
Think short, kid fingers
burning in the snow.

I slip into my blue jacket.
I lace up my combat boots.

Outside, some windows slide open,
and the rest resting slam
shut. Somewhere, sweat

darkens a neck. Others
surely shiver home, straight

into the vein. Scattered in the square,
sleeping on benches,
tattooed girls cross and uncross,

pulling at wide-stretched
ears, twitching and laughing

near lonely, old men. Late skater boys
fuck, snake, paint, relate.
One of them, the smallest,

a half-finished painting…
well, he looks like you –

gaunt and buried within a yellowish glow
of lamp. I want to walk
with you. I want to step

on the heels of your shoes.
Alone feels right in this artist

light. Muted, a heavy makeup, it hides
the deepest flaws.
A splinter breaks free.

Now it’s caught in my curls,
and love is the man

who finally pries it loose. Well, now I am
almost inside. I feel almost
pretty. I think you would

like this place.

C.A. MacConnell