Commercial Break

By Edward Butscher

Wrapped in cellophane,

who can smell the inner

thighs that baked me pure

once upon a kneeling time?

 

The illusion is love,

a Wonder Bread truck

stalled at the curb.

 

Flames oven her nails,

my heart a sodden loaf

handled stale.

 

Too many girls but one,

the black-haired mute

who signed Italian

in crucified palms.

 

Making love,

breaking bread,

the driver has left for India.

 

___

Poet, critic, and literary biographer, Edward Butscher resides with his wife, Paula Trachtman, in Greenport, Long Island. His poetry and essays have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies since 1976. Collections of his poetry include Poems About SilenceAmagansett Cycle, and Child in the House. His biography Sylvia Path: Method and Madness, was the first of that poet, and Conrad Aiken: Poet of White Horse Vale won the Melville Kane Award from the Poetry Society of America.


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