Interrogation

 

R O B E R T   O K A J J

 

I switch on the lamp.

What have you done, I ask.

 

Too much, I confess. Too little.

Shading my eyes with my left hand, I say

Yesterday’s leaves mask tomorrow’s faults, and

illumination breeds the desired font of all poets.

 

You’re full of it! I pull the rubber hose piece

from my pocket and smack it against

my palm. Do you know who I am?

 

The mirror doesn’t lie.

 

Everything breaks.

Even the sky.

 

I nod. This is not contrition.

My life, I admit.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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