My orange kitten climbs a tree.  Skinny
        branches bend and sway.  She dangles
        upside down, hangs by a needle-claw of paw.

        My heart blocks my throat like it did
        that childhood evening I saw Suzie Dell dangle
        by her knees from our school’s jungle gym,

        Sometimes on TV a flashing green neon light
        reminds Jake of the silver blade

        slashing air, slicing skin; then the red line
        breaking up into rivulets,

        smearing his arm as his fingers touched the
        would even before the pain hit.

        Hacking them into

        scared silence,

        the draft chased them

        like some beheaded fowl


        bleeding its final seconds

        in barnyard sawdust

        My wife works in the kitchen, baking bread.
        I sit nearby, my life stale.  Hopes lie flat
        as unkneaded dough.  Jams, jellies
        decorate shelves, their saving flavors
        just within reach if I but choose the right jar,

        Poets
        Bomb us with words
        That bruise our souls with joy