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by Luci Shaw

The two of them

He's the black plug that fits no socket.
She's the small change that weights the pocket.

He's the exhaust in the atmosphere.
She's her own nightmare. She's the fear.

He's the cloud that yields no rain.
She's the drug that seeds the pain.

He's the dead dog that no one fed.
She's the needle that lost its thread.

He's the line without a hook.
He's the last gasp the drowned man took.

She's the rot at the heart of the oak.
She's the last word that the patient spoke.

He's the trap without the cheese.
She's the hive deprived of bees.

He's a chimera, a heat mirage.
They're the gas fumes in their own garage.

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