Oyster Boy Review 21  
  Poetry Annual 2014
» Cover

» Art
» Poetry
» Essays
» Reviews

» Contributors

» Oyster Boy Review
» Levee 67


Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Cigar

Kathleen Hellen

I cannot see your eyes (some kind of genius)
darting. The moon accelerates. A razor.

You and I on the edge of summer,
bodies paralyzed, drifting into new deliriums.
Swans explode

every ninety minutes. Cherries cherries cherries.
Eight years later . . .

you are silhouetted in the window. The house lights on.
Two thousand priests.

Let me make it more obscure.
When you pushed, I fell.

. . .