black dreams and blue thieves
a pregnant wife should dream of
willows and cotton and children
pattering across blanched linoleum
mine dreamt that construction was
going on across the street at 4 am;
the elementary school—crews had been
there for summer weeks.
but nowthe school was vacant and black
so her mind's rattle of saber saws and
clanging scaffolding had to be
the work of a sinister imagination.
REMs spinning like a cockeyed phonograph
they buzzed and screamed in her
wee hour ears and
she thought someone sawing and
grinding and sawing through chains.
sat up, belly full, upright and
cautious—stole a glance
through the window gauze
like deer at leafy branches
watching evening shadows
fall across fallen corn
there, in the back yard, were
the workers that had been laboring—
at least in the black electric dream of hers.
now they'd come back to life
as thieves in midnight blue
wheeling her gas grill noisily through
wet grass—a broken security
chain dragging behind like a brat
by the hand.
for the man next to her side
half nude, open-mouthed and
exhaling dryly like fine sand,
whispers a strange psalm
that the killing verse
should follow a blue thief to
the grave. final.
here’s the shotgun loaded
in my hands and i pull back
sleep's webbing and
the front door in underwear
Harrington & Richardson is a
tunnel that does not change course or
bird shot in the chamber
and low-brass in the hand.
when you draw a bead
on another man you decide
right then—if you take a chunk of
the criminal mind, you just might
blast something else from the midnight sky.