Jane Dodds

I am using a lot of electricity
in this cold front and for one
of one with such a curiously
back of the flat head
one asks something

Was it dropped?

Like a fruit by that girl
working the pedal like a potter
stopping and going and stopping
cool, indifferent to pleas for attention
from the received forms and others of the needy
types until sweat falls from the zero fallout
and shorts the belt

Strange weather

But a cinch she's doing something, that's something
in this cold front
so quaint and industrial
without stopping while you're showering
the clouds are so full of hot
they must be recalled
fatalities pending and
the end is coming eventually
The Rupture

That's something

So while I am feeling the heat
rapt in this cold front room
where your extinction scenarios are my favorites
and the river is so low
it ran through its water
looking for something to say
or a useful hook to offer the seekers
filling its banks
and pockets with wavering handkerchiefs

Nothing will shore up the river's spirits
like work