Three Poems

The Pretender

Being a doctor is easy, you just wear a white coat.
Memorise the files, study the wall.
If a bald man with an oxygen tank wants to kill you,
Move to a new town. White walls, locked door.
If you had a talking car, you’d have someone to talk to.
In the diner: your big fingers tapping out Morse code.
Horn-rimmed glasses: history professor.
Another gosh-darn town.

If a lady with a bob wants to kill you,
Fall in love. (Her pleather coat.)
Meet me in the parking garage.
If a Belgian man calls you on the phone,
Tell him your innermost thoughts.
Your face, broad and flat as a surveillance video.
On the right is a picture of your mother: gone.
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