THE THOUGHTS OF A DYING MAN

Quinn Shapiro

My nurse counts my pills,

so do I.

Funny,

the chalky pellets

do not go down easily

anymore.

The smell of the rose

lying by my side

sickens me,

a reminder

of the lost tomorrow.

I’d prefer the flower was only thorns.

The dirty window

five feet from my bed

laughs at me,
a spit

in the face

from God.

I stare into it

as the sun sets,

and my demons crawl

from the blackening horizon.

I am

the human’s cow.

I stand on Limbo Shore

and wait for the sea of night

to seduce me.
 THE WOMAN OF MANY HATS
Quinn Shapiro

She whisks a strand

of wispy hair

around her ear.

Her arms,

a cornucopia,

hold her notebook,

laptop,

baby, a bottle.

She shuffles down

the echoing,

fourth story hallway,

railing on her left.

She passes her neighbors

and wears a smile

like a mask,

not a tooth hiding.

We share a quick nod

as her crowded hands

reach for her small,

round door knob,

a tightrope act.

She closes the door

to her one-room apartment.

Her baby cries.

 SNAKE TONGUE TRAIL

Quinn Shapiro

I stand on the threshold,

the doorstep

to my palace of clouds.

Ahead lies a path of ash

that splits into eight

like the limbs of an octopus.

Some lead through

the snowy mountains, others

around and into the oak forest.

The devil lurks in the woods,

longing

for a victim.

On the highest peak

sits an oasis

of gold and music.

The sun and the moon

hide from the stars,

and the yellow polka dots alone

illuminate the sky.

 ODE TO TRIPP LAKE MORNINGS

Quinn Shapiro

Loons coo

at the first breath of dawn,

and a breeze whispers

through a sea of maple trees.

Frigid water laps onto the grassy shore,

the lake beckons.

Largemouth bass

leap out of the water

in hopes of catching dragonflies.

Cranberry bushes,

ready for bears to harvest,

line the curvy lakeside like tart lips.

A canoe leads a polished wake.

The smell of sappy pine trees

lies on the lake

like a light blanket.

Then

the ripples form,

and the morning

ends.
 THE PILL

Quinn Shapiro

The pill,

tasty little pill,

no larger

than an ant,

pretends to

save the man.

And,

like his victim,

bites the hand

of his mother.