Both Sides Against the Middle

The questions pile up, wadded tissue
in a one-foot can. Shoeboxes, ash.
Pick up sticks, house of cards.
Who’s going to California? No one
you know. Solo ant marching up the refrigerator
disappears. Weevils in opened noodles. Chocolate
meringue pie. Greg? do you like Greg? I wouldn’t
tell you if I did. Wish upon a star that is
an airplane; it blinks and slides. A guy?
A guy. Tape on cursive lines, paper puzzle,
black out. Can opener growls at mandarin oranges;
juice swells. Who asked if you think
he should leave? Tractor wheels nibbling
at the gravel, clothespins, his red thread
travels the patches, hangs on the pants.

Angie Hogan
“Both Sides Against the Middle” first appeared in Quarterly West, Number 67, Fall/Winter 2008-2009.