Statistics
Gary Gildner
(1978)
Statistics say the heart is a long-stemmed
glass
you happen across after the party has busted up,
that red wine crusted over the lip, the kiss
you once felt down to you toes, down where
the minnows poured themselves into a giant silver drop
Statistics say we are sprouting stiff
black bristles
in all the places where we used to brush
Statistics say we will break six geranium
pots
in the seventh year, on the morning of the eighth
you will catch yourself boring a hole
above the old one, the one that never filled up
standing on slivers of wishbones
Statistics say trhe bears in the zoo
scratch and yawn but they won't sleep with you
Statistics say no matter how many bottles
you toss in the water,
no matter how many loops you scoop, the milkpods you
puffed
out your cheeks for, flying and flying,
are gone, along with the grandpas
pulling covers over their chins
Statistics say you will quit walking
barefoot
the summer your name disappears from the sand
Statistics say please or listen once
too often
and then they forget and say it again,
and we always hear them, that's the wonderful part,
and then we forget and they repeat it, slowly,
only we are bending closer to the mirror by now
arranging something we want just so
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