HERE IN THE AFTERNOON

by J. Lester Allen

here in the afternoon
there is death in the refrigerator’s hum
in whir of the hard-drive
in every trick of tick of clock

here in the afternoon
there is death in the kitchen
in a cage
there is death in the doorbell
in the idle of an engine
in threatening rings of the telephone
where my heart nearly stops

here in the afternoon
there is death in distant traffic
in helicopters overhead
in leaf-blowers
and lawn mowers
in the discontented growl of my empty stomach
and the cats’ stomachs
their claws on my legs
chasing mice through my veins

here in the afternoon
there are timidities in your voice
from behind closed doors
and many doubts about my mind
an ambulance siren
sounds as
dogs bark at the ghosts of love

here in the afternoon
the walls sizzle like
bacon in a hot pan
like a baseball crowd
like the 4th of July

the past peeks in to
say hello
while a contented fly
pukes happily all over
my arm

I dump bottles of your
words like
poison into my
brain

which, quite thankfully

has no aftertaste