The Wizard Shoots a Lightning Bolt

The houses are unusually high today, I thought,
As if they’d pulled up their skirts and raised their rafters,
Front yards naked and conspicuously empty, like the desert
At Cheops, razed to flatter their chubby ankles, and dwarf
Us. A face sticks in my tendrils, twitches
Like a scared rabbit. Lamps burn on the sides of cars, blur
My failing vision, swim like jelly fish
Or caught ghosts.

My eyes don’t feel right. Slowly I open them &
I close them, like an addict, like last
Night, when the police officer pointed white in my eyes
And asked me: “Is this a rooming house sir? Do you live
In a rooming house?” and I wondered whether I was in trouble
& ran up to get I.D., voice calling: “You said ‘we’, who
Lives there with you?” and I said “My wife.” Later laughing,
Blind again. “All I heard
One gunshot. I know how a gun sounds. It came
From over there, I think, but I can’t be sure. We heard it once
And, in silence: again, and again afterwards. We have too many windows
Here.” Fine.

A racoon scared us, we turned the lights off, Lisa lay
On the floor. Below a police officer in the garden checked
The perimeter, while I pushed away a curtain
And watched him.

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