Window
By Franny French
They liked to have
that one poet
around because he stirred things up.
Quite a bit at the magazine.
Quite a bit at readings.
Quite a bit
during the Q&A
when he said "titty bar"
with a straight face, breaking
the buttons of his tailored jacket,
his pricey shirt,
revealing that freakish little window
in his belly,
tunnel of glass, really, railroad flat
to the back, through which
you could have seen, if
they’d still been hanging around,
all the people who never gave him
the time of day.
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