Poet Fan Poem by Alistair Graham

The oscillating fan stands tall and still
like a mechanical sunflower,
worshiping the ground I walk on.

her stem-stand feet, her slender frame,
covered with a blanket of dust;
the skin of me.

her one good eye, weeps without ceasing
all the day long, if I fail to touch her;
push her buttons.

when I push one, or two, she flies into frenzy
in floating and flailing three leaf petal,
flinging her feelings at my face.

“mind you, ” I say to her,
“it’s about time you took me
less serious; this is a grave situation,

you are in your place
in the corner of the room,
between coat rack and filing cabinet,

you are a fragile little flower
who I don’t want to see
crack up.”

I push her
nought button, disconnect her
from the powers that be.

I wait for her to calm, relax
her breathing, I slip my arm
around her waist

walk her to my desk, to me
to witness how she
settles, like dust to dust.

funny thing, she
never once
asked for my autograph