What Men And Women Do Alone
Poetry by John Creary
is pantomime sharply
out of the bedroom.
They host a homegrown
gag reflex, politely.
They serrate the words
on the walking tour,
flimsy smiles at neighbours.
Men and women bottle
the unspoken bits
until the body shapes
of terse nouns explode into
a blizzard; a battleground
on repeat, daily
reminders—long lines
at the love factory.
They try to renovate
the reasons with ear-
plugs and blind spots,
hand jobs in camouflage.
Men and women blur
at the television, swap
the family for strange
flesh, burning at midnight
in a backseat, busy.
Busy calling back casual,
busy adjusting the drapes.