Another Plot Cliché

My dear, you are the high-speed car chase, and I,

I am the sheet of glass being carefully carried

across the street by two employees of Acme Moving

who have not parked on the right side

because the plot demands that they make

the perilous journey across traffic,

and so they are cursing as rehearsed

as they angle me into the street, acting as if

they intend to get me to the department store, as if

I will ever take my place as the display window, ever clear

the way for a special exhibit at Christmas, or be Windexed

once a day, or even late at night, be pressed against

by a couple who can’t make it back to his place,

and so they angle me into the street, a bright lure,

a provocative claim, their teaser, and indeed

you can’t resist my arguments, fatally flawed

though they are, so you come careening to but and butt

and rebut, you come careening, you being

both cars, both chaser and chased, both good and bad, both

done up with bullets that haven’t yet done you in.

I know I’m done for: there’s only one street

on this set and you’ve got a stubborn streak a mile long.

I can smell the smoke already.

No matter, I’d rather shatter

than be looked through all day. So come careening; I know

you’ve other clichés to hammer home: women with groceries

to send spilling, canals to leap as the bridge is rising.

And me? I’m so through. I’ve got a thousand places to be.

Source: Poetry (July 2006)