Rape or fantasy, a cat swimming
or drowning
in a river with no name. It had a name
I couldn’t remember as the dream drained

out. Comedians recite poetry—I can’t
write the words cancer, blood, weapon. No
courage. The very subjects I avoid
are the ones I should be wrestling

to the warm, dry ground.
For now, a French speaking club takes over
the coffee bar. And this corner
speaks to me without fear.