I sit at the center,
the red metal stool
carries my weight.
the girl in blue stares
at me with tiger eyes.
I face the other side, drag
the red metal stool as
it screeches—
as though my thoughts are
wailing.
The man in eyeglasses
shouts, “what’s the central image?”
the girl in blue nods,
not once
but twice
as the man hammers
my poems
on the table.
I face them
carrying
my own weight,
he hurls the sheets
up in the air,
Our eyes witness
as my syllables
fall
like loosened
leaves of a tree.
