How Far We Never Get Beyond Our Dreams
Published in Measure
I dreamt you took me down to your new office,
the elevator jolting on its cables,
the tall, dim hall through which your nameplate’s brass
shown from the door. You were the sleek new boss,
just split from your father’s firm. The boss’s son,
I was the darling of the secretary
and toyed with inheriting the crown,
but ammonia from the blueprints made me giddy. . . .
Before I knew, I held your severed head
and cast it into a drawer like a pizza oven.
The look you gave me then, so full of sad
and knowing pity, nearly caved me in,
but the secretary closed me in her sights,
and now I have your work to do tonight.
