Conversation, hypothetical

Published September 29, 2021 by April Fox
What are you looking for?


I don't think you'll find it there.
There's a mannequin in the window, watching you. What's it thinking?

Not anything. Mannequins don't think. They just stare.

Remember the one thing you said, did you mean it?

Of course I did. I never will. I never have. Did you?

Of course.
One day they'll drop the bomb on us. I hope you're here with me. 
There was never a point, was there? All the pencils, dulled with use and whittled down to eraser stubs, the pink dregs of mistakes huddled in the bent metal grip like refugees, bits of foil in your gums, chewed up by anxiety --
And the papers, long forgotten, formulas and spelling rules burnt up in time's incinerator

(I didn't coin that phrase; look it up)

And there goes my mind, spiraling back again

To the safety of lost album covers and songs they never played on the radio till they were oldies

And the speakers at the gas pumps tear my ears away

from my battered scalp

The exhaust fumes make big holes inside my eyes
What were you looking for? Did you ever find it?

No. I wasn't looking.

You were blind.

I was blind.
The lights were keeping score, tabulating risk

Halogen predictors of the future.
Why are you so quiet?

Go to hell.

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