Jay Snodgrass
Distraction
Refugees in the parlor
Sweep up the wreckage just to be sure
The regulars won’t mind when
The world comes back.
Orphans to a history wade
Waters to beg candles from a load
In the crematorium.
I’m orange but no one’s biting.
No one has the courage to guess
How loose the rope is around
The pistol’s neck.
Blood recons her bar tab
And ochers out a tip.
Jet blossoms calm the children
With war’s unending promise:
Tulips in the garden masticating
Their treasures.
Only one scent
Of mercy catches a wind
And rides her sparrow
Through the linen section
Pricing surprise, fear,
And retreat.