Smiling For No Reason

I think about it often —
what would happen.
How it might work.

I dream up scenarios,
and when I am alone at work,
alone in my office.

When I am on the bus.
When I am buying baguettes and lox.
When I open the jar of capers.

I imagine how it will work.
I wonder where I will be.


I hope that when I walk down the street,
it will happen in a hail of poppies,
blossoming over the white of my shirt,

and I will go down in slow motion,
onto my knees,

and then collapsing onto my side,
blood running from my lips,

my hands grasping
for something I cannot reach.

I imagine it,
over and over and over again.

That’s what I’m thinking about,
when I tell you ‘Nothing’
when you ask why I’m smiling.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.