by Eleanor Boudreau
Danielle hands me back the hair-dryer, but she puts it to her head first,
like a gun.
She rolls her eyes and makes a blowing sound, “Pow.”
[She’s wearing underwear], [she has just gotten out of bed]. They call it
The Silver Bullet
and it is written on the side.
Kristen is standing outside. She’s cold, she's wearing shorts. She's cold
[she’s wearing shorts] and you can’t see
her deepest secret, you can’t know.
I thought all bullets were silver.
Goodnight my friends, goodnight. I will leave you
on these [trusty] cement slabs and you won’t fall through.
“Goodnight, my friends, goodnight. I hope to see you all anon.”
Where the bridges piled on the road like bones,
and the things that showed up on the x-ray are silver, but dull
and old.
Eleanor Boudreau studied poetry at Harvard, spent a year dry-cleaning, and is now a radio reporter whose non-poetic voice can be heard via WKNO-FM.
Danielle hands me back the hair-dryer, but she puts it to her head first,
like a gun.
She rolls her eyes and makes a blowing sound, “Pow.”
[She’s wearing underwear], [she has just gotten out of bed]. They call it
The Silver Bullet
and it is written on the side.
Kristen is standing outside. She’s cold, she's wearing shorts. She's cold
[she’s wearing shorts] and you can’t see
her deepest secret, you can’t know.
I thought all bullets were silver.
Goodnight my friends, goodnight. I will leave you
on these [trusty] cement slabs and you won’t fall through.
“Goodnight, my friends, goodnight. I hope to see you all anon.”
Where the bridges piled on the road like bones,
and the things that showed up on the x-ray are silver, but dull
and old.
Eleanor Boudreau studied poetry at Harvard, spent a year dry-cleaning, and is now a radio reporter whose non-poetic voice can be heard via WKNO-FM.
