It’s made its nest
here in the central mind.
It spreads its metal wings,
and lays its plastic eggs
leaving its engine on —
you scarcely hear
the whisper of your wife
even though every window’s closed,
the moon passing alone,
the last of stars
extinguished by the haze of morning,
before the first long drag of cigarette.
Hs it boarded the runway of your mind?
(Your heart is on a scaffold). Seems
its eyes are television screens,
or rather more like monitors,
while love is waiting on the line,
always on hold.
Outside:
abandoned nests,
foreclosure of the birds,
the cold unfolding of their wings,
the mechanism’s scent.
You want to hear
the whispers of your wife;
you want to live
amongst the unadulterated lakes and streams
(you heard they were above the blue meridian)
and allocate what’s left in residence
to wind and trees, untroubled stones.
— MARK KATRINAK
Mark Katrinak has a chapbook, “Blue Meridian,” forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Mark is now a resident of Golden Valley, Arizona. When not working for a mental health agency, he enjoys birds, cats, fine wine, and spending time with his family.