Slip

blood working its way
into every capillary,
fingertips unable to stop
trepidatious air-tapping,
her outlandish words,
my lividity alive
as you walk in
to this simmered-down
moment of fraudulent calm

i stand without words
as you disappear
reappear
and place the thick slip
of her punishment before me

she will walk away,
saunter down the hallway,
continue on with
her outspoken life,
forgetting everything
before she swallows her lunch

but i will hear
only your whispered version
of the truth
the subtle (yet so obvious) gesture
and your strength
slipped in on carbon copied paper
that i can borrow for one day.

Cotton

Try stuffing cotton in,
then maybe you could hear me better,
because even when I SHOUT!
you turn away and talk.

I have a bag right here,
fresh from the store,
shorn from the greatest
polyester plant in China.

Perhaps if I sent you there,
where students must stand
at silent attention when the
teacher enters the room,

and crowd into one hundred
lecture-style desks lined up
like building blocks in their
echoed cave, you would listen.

But for now, let me take a
piece of polyester-cotton ball,
one for each ear, so at the very least,
I won’t have to listen to you.