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Ignite
September 18, 2008
I never really got there
To the man with the ignited head,
Sitting,
Businesslike,
Hands on the table,
A contract in front of you that says:
This is it.
You can be happy forever.
Take it.
Sign it.
Now.
I only ever saw the light in the keyhole
And from under the door.
The writhing, twisting light.
I was pulled backward from it by my feet.
My hands were burnt on cold wood.
My nails splintered and
Their streaks on the floor were underlines
Of the door with the man inside.
© Amy Z., Edmond, OK
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