Q & A, or, Might as Well Write

So what’s the point?

she wants to know –

always some no-nonsense

middle-aged lady with no time

for waste, for self-aggrandizement

with no other price tag.

All those words

nobody will read ­– she can see

not only does the emperor

have no clothes but the tailors

honestly believe they are sewing something.

Maybe you pile up those words

for your protection,

like a levee you crouch

against, flood waters

lapping and spitting

over the top, spraying us all.

Maybe you will be the one to say it:

slot the necessary words in the order

that springs the lock, releasing us

from our own stupidity, from an existence

empty and hungry as a mouth

gaping and bleeding like a wound.

Maybe you try to say it

so the stupid doesn’t chain you

so you can go on believing

that at least you somehow

remain unchanged.