by Jeb Ebben
The moment that gets cut off, like
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she almost finished saying
The moment stretches on, like
“It’s good to finally meet you”
On the swing set under the bridge
Where the gravel grays the scene
“Love again,” she almost finished saying
Like, did you wonder what it meant for him to say those nice things
About you and your shoes
And the Superman curl of your hair
He doubted it just like you might have doubted it but he never said it
Not out loud, not like you would have said
And, like, is it, like, a crime, or whatever?
To be interesting, or whatever?
And a new voice calls out when you are not sure
Whether you are listening or longing or limping along
But is it, like, authentic?
Or whatever?
No authentic response to false metal
Death to false meddling
Space case finished speaking subpar sublimations
Polysyllabic pock marked text or subtext
Like the text like the text like the text like, becomes?
The subtext? Or whatever?
Do you read?
That’s a funny thing to ask at a place like this
At a time like now
Or whenever