“There is a worse thing,
I wager, than being seen.”
in silhouette, from the street, as in a noir
where something ominous is set to happen,
and when it happens, a black car peels
from the curb into the iron metropolis.
Or being seen at the shore hauling
an empty sack, which might have held
evidence, or nothing. Imagination runs
to the worst scene, always, and worse
is being heard, the line cut short, static buzzing
with malice, a question hung in celadon air.
Karen Rigby is the author of Chinoiserie (Ahsahta Press). Her poems have been published in The Spectacle, Australian Book Review, The London Magazine, Foundry, Bennington Review and other journals. She lives in Arizona.