My Favorite Neighbor

I’m headed to my favorite neighbor’s
where I’ll peruse undusted annals
—exhaust myself on circumlocutions.
I’ll get off on shock nostalgia. Enroute
I’ll see little stockinged legs dangle
from the cast iron railings.
I’ll get caught inside
GEARS_TURNING.GIF
You know they’ll churn forever!

My favorite neighbor’s got a faulty sprocket.
I predict that he might sell himself for parts.
I’ve found that his soundboard sparks,
melting forth tiny openings. Beware—
you’ll get collected by these tiny openings.
All of his first edition novels have margin
scribbles like, “I’ve got social asphyxia.
I got tired and went home.”

I’ve asked mystics;
I’ve rubbed the bronze statue’s breast.
Admittedly, I kissed the automaton.
They say he went metal on purpose:
he pawned his soft.
Explain to me in slapstick.
Now, explain it without sound.
Condescend to me in your stern inspector voice.
Write me and sign it evocatively, all
“forever your french girl,”

His verbose digressions bled through
the footnotes and will bleed into a sequel.

I love that

I’m betting my bucks on the robot and
I’m willing to bet an extortionate amount.

____
Vivi Hayes lives in New York, NY.