Suggestion Box

Everyday upon entering the coliseum, I see it
Well crafted from exotic hardwoods
Stolen, I’m sure, from some forest primeval
Hand-polished brass hardware makes certain
All submissions remain confidential
Goddamn thing probably cost more than I make in a week

Passing by, I project poison through the smooth slot
A gill of gall in your hogshead of cream
The unspoken knowledge that if I told you what I really thought
The linoleum floor would rend beneath your feet
You would become helplessly entangled
In basement chain and sour mop heads—things you know nothing about

My first suggestion would be to get rid of that box


Published in Poiesis #5, January 2011


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