Jeffrey McDaniel Poems
The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly ...
I want to locate a bit of you, cradle it,
say: this, there is no word for this.
But they will. They who name everything
will define our actions
as we auction our bodies off to sleep.
In our single dram we'd compose
a manifesto on the irregularity of scars.