She said,
You’re like a library in the suburbs You’re a fortress of solitude in some Arctic
hideout You’ll never crack There’s nothing underneath Nothing trapped below
your layer of ice
And a neck craned
And some eyes locked
And someone knew someone was right
And everyone looked away
Silence is a lingua franca but some love to speak some keep pointing out
similarities to mimes when deigning to fuck passionless rhythmless speechless
emotionless to Americans when gazing at the glow of a widescreen at midnight
on a loveseat to proles when working through a sixer each and every evening
after a perfunctory kiss to Italians when having food cut nice and neat at six
o’clock on the dot to callous capitalists when directing the calloused hands of the
shoeshine boys at Penn Station
A statue in the spotlight
Hearing nothing but sound
She said,
You’re like a library in the suburbs
And I turned the thermostat down
Until she was as frozen as I
–Alfonso Colasuonno