Why did you pick this line of work at all?
I love the symmetry, the play of force,
the smooth precision of well-oiled pieces.

Aristocrats, they were
made to walk over,
to be proud of their scars:

The radiation machine
didn’t hum. The lights in the room dimmed.

Rads went through my chest
without a word.

Your manners much in evidence: please
pass the water jug and would you kindly
loosen the handcuffs just a tad? They pinch.

What I remember most is what he did to the couple
   who sent his best pasta back to the kitchen,

Marmalade will bring the devices. Keep them
damp and away from sunlight. Any sudden
shocks will set them off, or—if you’re unlucky—

THESE ARE THE THINGS WE THINK ARE BEAUTIFUL:
Flames and money with colors. Good thick paper
rubbing between the fingertips like oil.

The heart under your heart
                  is not the one you share
so readily o full of pleasantry

woe our good kaspar is dead
who will wear now the burning flag in a braid who will crank the coffee grinder
who will lure the idyllic deer

ADDRESS ME, I said, and I meant “please speak.”
“Oh you mean UNDRESS ME,” one said and turned.