Sunday, June 3, 2007

Dead Sound

Title from the Raveonettes (MySpace)

After you'd sneaked up to my photo counter,

you shouted my name in a firm, gruff voice

I instinctually attributed to a manager or a supervisor

or that kid from the front end who thinks he knows what my job is.

Once I'd stopped shaking like a Polaroid

you told me you'd stopped in to buy groceries for your boyfriend.

and as I stood slack-jawed and staring

at your smooth, beach-brown skin

and the extraordinarily ordinary way in which

your lips pursed together on the "B" in "boyfriend,"

my stomach stretched itself out into taffy

then proceeded to tie itself into a double Windsor

tightened 'til it turned off all my brain's lights.

With the lights out, my brain went to bed.

Didn't sleep, but went to bed.

After an uncomfortable silence

(that was actually quite full

thanks to Van Morrison and Price Chopper Radio)

you walked away to find mac and cheese in aisle six,

and when I went to look down at my sneakers

I realized I'd been looking there the entire time.

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