Leveler Poetry Journal
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Pattern Bluffer

 

We shake on it, but the fanfare is dimmed by the chummy

 

adieu and specimen detective pose I take that I think

 

looks good as I get smaller

 

Cue layover montage to stash my daily fabling in

 

‘To wait is a sport now or science,’ he had muttered, more featureless

 

horizon than actually standing there

 

making a bet     I scanned

 

myself for laws and found none, and now watch his wave like a bellows

 

boost with minutes what present we have left

 

I am already readied

 

I diagnose the exit with Acute Crummy Odds

 

Those footsteps’ minuet of fading out, I think,

 

have their simpatico with any crooked inch I have marched before

 

Still I’ll send my letters to a desert with Internet, roam our ratio to its lopsided max, and

 

if something of us should spill in that rickety arithmetic, I might win

 

I might greet it like North with my compass alone




Peter Milne Greiner