Incarceration

by Will Bradshaw


In stanzas, my fictive characters fidget
switch their weight from cheek to cheek
check watches I have forgotten to write in

No one speaks

Dancers thumb a retrospective on DiMaggio
Ball-players stare half-heartedly at Broadway lights
anything not ask out loud when
when will the metaphor be coming

they read Homer in college, fear
The Rosy Fingers of Dawn
which is personification as well as metaphor

A brave girl
maybe not so lovely as the rest maybe
lovelier rises
steps quietly to the window on pointed feet
peers out, sees

lumbering gigantic in the street
nothing, realizes
the metaphor already is upon them.