P O E T S ON THE LINE
a continuing anthologyFounded by Andrew Gettler & Linda Lerner
NO. 9 & 10 T H E M I L L E N N I U M I S S U E
Edited by Linda Lerner
AMY HOLMAN
Denial
Only in Soho might my skull be crushed
by an upholstered brick, tossed out a window
by a child. Only in a neighborhood with a storecalled Shabby Chic could a builder's block
wrapped like a gift and sewn, in tapestry threads,
arc over me and bounce off a car bumper.If it had fallen, it would not have killed me, either,
since I was strolling the sidewalk's center. Only
if the boy's pitch had been weaker would I haveperished on the street with the same name as
the school where I earned my B.A. I had the urge
to cradle the water-stained object to know itsexact heft, but the rollerblading man took it with him
across the street for a better angle on its origin, while
his girlfriend circled me and with her own awe, raisedmine to a kind of cheer. They lived in this building,
they'd call the cops, I should go home, have a drink.
I walked home, thinking: Thursday, E.R., GeorgeClooney. But, then recalled the last episode where
Dr. Green's face was rammed into a porcelain sink.
So, I drifted into the trees along Bedford, pet a dog,forgot. I watched Dr. Green's face for an hour without
any self reference. Only in passing the street on
my trek up Houston the following morning, did itcome back in static dissolve, like a familiar piece of
music on the radio dial that you briefly strain to, before
passing through for something more upbeat.
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