by dm gillis

copper rivets in my jeans
another strange day

beguiling morning buttons
socks and shoes

breakfast is the Paris Review and
Van Gogh’s Lirios

there are temple bells in my in-basket
I am late for work

the telephone rings
and a Marxist complains about Gettier
I transfer him to Acquisitions

for lunch
I try to be Buddhist in the park
the ghost of my arthritic aunt Myrtle
drives by in a Dodge
a contented grin on her face
there is cinnamon on the wind

a meeting after lunch
best practices and liabilities
I disagree vocally
with all that is said
a co-worker kicks me gently
beneath the boardroom table

how can she know
there’s a bomb in my head
ready to explode
assigning marigolds, peace and penny candy
to every child of the world

it’s not much of a bomb, granted
in this age of self-detonating fools
but it’s the best I can do
considering the long commute home
and the sleep of vowels
in the deeply consonant night