[24] "The Lion Has a Job Interview"

The Lion Has a Job Interview

By Deidre Price

I came prepared,

had my mane tucked in,

my nails polished.

I even ate before I came

to keep my instincts at bay.

I entered the cage to the sound of a gate

closing behind me, keys jangling

in an unidentified pocket.

They came prepared, too,

a mural of suits, hose, and heels,

cold, memorized lines paired with warm faces

and a script held out like meat on a stick,

a ball to keep me half busy.

Each took his turn circling

while each question closed in,

the weight of nothing feeling like something,

as it pressed into my head,

pushing out ordinary trick after trick.

I know the routine:

when to pounce, when to wait,

what sounds to make,

when to take the bait,

how to get a reward.

They know the routine:

I'm a lion.

And that's why it takes six of them

to one me.

[23] "Trial Separation, or Five Classy Ways to Deal with a Cheating Husband"

Trial Separation, or Five Classy Ways to Deal with a Cheating Husband

By Deidre Price

ONE

I'll paint a chalk menu on the wall,

write seven dishes to cook this week—

one for every woman you had

instead of me.

I'll knead memories in pie crusts,

top them with tall, meringued fantasies,

after folding in some of mine

with some of yours.

TWO

I'll double starch your collars

when I press the shirts

with seven shades of lipstick on them,

all but mine.

I'll launder our wedding day,

the births of our children.

I'll keep washing and pressing

to get the truth out.

THREE

I'll wipe down your dash,

shred glovebox receipts,

collect clues from the floorboards.

I'll see seven cities on the map,

note you as both Lewis and Clark,

believe that I was strong enough to stay

in a place you never could:

home.

FOUR

I'll let you grab my ass

when I do your dishes

because the children might see.

FIVE

I'll set all the alarms in the house,

ring your front desk for a wake-up call,

put that laundry on the line,

knock the privacy fence down,

write our address on the Parade of Homes,

put the proof on the coffee table,

turn on the floodlights.

We'll all see or go blind trying.

[22] "Segments"

Segments

By Deidre Price

To be pulled off, pulled away,

pierced and undone,

to be made passive, put upon,

then set upon a table,

shielded with a napkin,

not knowing

whose side they're protecting.

To be pressed into again,

those pieces spread too wide and apart,

a second separation from the self,

a second inspection that will tell

only answers you already know.

[21] "Introduction to Philosophy"

Introduction to Philosophy

By Deidre Price

I keep ink in a vat by my bed.

You might call it a well,

maybe an ink receptacle,

a squatty jar even,

but then you'd miss out

on the smallish detail

that my brain resides there.

Yes, my whole bloody head

lives in the ink vat

that sits, unremarkably,

on a light wooden TV tray,

my makeshift nightstand,

alongside empty baby books,

and at least seven slung off necklaces.

Purposefully, I keep the vat close by.

It's not that anyone might steal it.

We live in an unsuspecting 3/2

that passes for middle class.

No one would know that my brain is here,

working away in a glassy black vat

beside a too-long borrowed Dave Ramsey book.

I mostly keep it close by

so that it doesn't wander off while I'm dreaming.

I've always been bad with putting retainers in before bed,

but I'm revival religious about removing my head.

It needs a rest as much as I do.

I respect it with a respite,

as I walk away, bare and alive, into my dreams.

But my brain is a colicky newborn,

a lonely and bored toddler,

a loud, thirsty child,

a sexed up teenager out past his curfew.

It's an alarm clock battling Tourrette’s,

a bad mattress,

a jumpy criminal on the lam.

I have screwed a top on the vat,

but my brain bruises when it hits the lid,

and the noises keep me up at night.

I've given up and given in,

getting up to nurse her every two hours,

tucking him in again,

walking her into the kitchen for water,

letting him try to knock up the whole neighborhood,

hitting the snooze more times than she deserves,

adding some bubble wrap,

but nothing works.

I am left with turning myself in.

[20] "A Vertical Miracle"

A Vertical Miracle

By Deidre Price

If a stem situates itself in your hair,

I must believe only that it was born to be there.

I must believe that a seed had a calling

to push, push, push

out of its skin,

up through the ground,

into a new being 

tall enough to be seen.

You, too, are a vertical miracle.

If you situate yourself anywhere,

I must believe only that you are born to be there.

I must believe that your life has a calling

to push, push, push

out of your skin,

up through the ground,

into a new being 

tall enough to be seen.