Playing the Telephone Game
Esther Lee
For instance, you might have said:
When he was leaving the store,
it was starting to rain.
Or:
Winnie was a sleeve torn.
It was darting1 derange2.
You might have taken (one can
play detective endlessly),
a ream of paper and traced
intricate scalloped designs
of the living room's
silver radiator3, or the young man,
towns away, his face blind-
embossed beneath the narrative4
we won't let go of.
Was it:
The grass nodded
beneath the dance.
Or:
Wrists knotted
these knees and pants.
Or, perhaps:
Zebras snotted
bereaved5 of ants.
No, knocking on wood won't
change what happens next.
Little yellow flags marking
their dancing footsteps—
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 is where
his body was found.
Nevermind headphones,
can of iced tea, lighter6,
scratched cell phone,
or three-leaf clover
wanting to turn four.
You might have thought:
He was wearing a red sweater.
He's swearing ahead weather.
He is airing a head feather.
He was erring7 hat fodder8.
His hearing a hard father.
Is searing an old water.
Adhere a worn blotter.
A year in hot falter9.
Here in what order.
Earring10 voiceover.
Herring half over.
Arrow October.
Heroine sober.
Rigged clover.
