“V….” is how they termed it,
at the hospital
triage admissions’
desk, on a Friday’s, October evening.
“Veh-…” is how they sang-songed it,
all in high mosquito
buzzing talk,
along pathways toward the lakefront.
“Pure V….!” is how they exclaimed it,
large as round
oaken table,
tame rabble of minds
perplexing younger attractions.
“V…o.” is how she bore it,
whim inflicting will
anew & radical
postures in
tenuous power, short ruffle.
“Ve…” was how we misunderstood it,
spelling evasive of
tender conscience,
thin, adolescent
bowing frame: stars & scattered.
“.en..” was how it ignored it,
sub-letting the next to be
well rent-out,
denuded aloft
sexless ad, lacing.
“..n.m” was how you ascribed it,
prone, middling, cadaverous Modern
Age, swore
as with
laughter finished; weathering reports.
“Venom” is what befell us,
shy the insidious, scouring
fix-up – travail’s
sole footfall, sturdy (rock-steady) & light.