RE:BURN
A response to Matthew Caws’ “Burn” (Quarto, 1990)
The boy hides in the farthest corner of the bus.
I’m sitting in a new seat, every time.
I catch him stealing books from me.
He writes them down in his notepad.
Pretending to read he writes my mouth a story.
His fingers burn out like matches, I think about staying on.
I would give him a number, slip it into his matchstick hands
Without a thought to whether he burns it or vice versa.
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