condolences, truly—
curated sympathy
complete
with saccharine
aftertaste, lingering
behind lips that lie
waiting for opportunities
to pose on a Catherine wheel
(a crucifix is too
on the nose, feels
like blasphemy)
and take a spin
through an arena,
veritable coliseum
half-filled with
vetted guests,
holding
their applause
until all the names are
called to the stand.
Exhibits A-Z indexed,
filed, submitted
by the prosecution:
carbon copies of
purloined letters
inadmissible,
crumpled under every
wiper blade in the lot.
Smug prosecution rests
without laurels.
After a brief recess,
the prosecution objects
to the existence
of the defense.
Sustained.
The gavel pounds,
but carbon doesn’t crumble.
A diamond
rejects the entire
performance.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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