Houdini

Now you see me, life of parties,
hand on bottles, now you don’t.
I could double as a sunrise, or as
a half-life. Tonight, I lay in parking
lots, on glass, on gravel, turning
rags to other rags. Remember home
tomorrow, invest in seven brand
new sins tonight. A constant bull
with pottery necklaces. A performing
jester leering on a crowded city
street. At bar close sell me flowers.
I saw this girl smile as she went
down hard, on her elbow, on the
ice. Presto, she inflated as she rose,
and could not wait to stand in line
for chicken. Her drunk friends
breathed with laughter. She and I
have long advertisements written
into our genetic codes. We live in
packed theaters. There are no
soundproof rooms. Everyone is on
display. Now you see me.

*

Tim Moder is a poet from northern Wisconsin. He is an enrolled member of The Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. He lives with his cat in a house that is too big. His poems have appeared in Denver Quarterly, Cutthroat, South Florida Poetry Journal, Freshwater Review, and others. He is the author of the chapbooks All True Heavens (Alien Buddha) and American Parade Routes (Seven Kitchens). His poems have been nominated for Best Of The Net and The Pushcart Prize. Find him at timmoder.com