Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Bureaucrat
by Peter Sherrill

Your letter so measured
so polished so
empty

Norman Rockwell once said
...oh, it escapes me now

I slap you. Hard. I
smile. You slap me back
hard. You smile

All colors, the color of ash
all flavors, the flavor of stone

She winks. I wink. We
both hate ourselves

That a wind so loud would
move so little

That air so silent should
make mountains shiver

Thunder speaks but
the sky has no answer

A shadow passes over me
an indescribable chill

Her hand warms me
hollow

Goblet spun of granite
polished echoes

I feel as empty
as she sounds

One word might save us
instead, we buy oranges.