Daniel Coudriet Care Must Be Taken

How many of them working to name the town square
after you. We're getting ahead of ourselves

remember that it might rain and snow
as you are driving the road dissolves.

Mounting a flatscreen above the dessert tray
like duct-taping a father-in-law to the yardarm

to keep lookout for unfamiliar townspeople.
If I were twenty inches tall, we'd adjust

our dancing posture. They'd serve gazpacho
and wine to exam-takers, a mannequin

with the evening gown portion of a violinist.
Her apartment. The balcony. Naked people

across the way. Quiet as they ponder
the breadoven. There's something to say

about giving birth into your hands, quietly.
Something else about tugging the hair and slapping

during sobremesa. We'll busy ourselves.
If we dig up the garden and replant it

we'll appear to have the freshest displaywindows.
No one will ever mention produce again.


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