Photo by Matthew Henry | Unsplash

What if

I peeled off
my clothes
right here
in the terrifyingly
bright lit aisles
of the grocery?
What if I stuck
my tongue
in a stranger’s mouth,
swerved inches
into oncoming traffic?
What if I loosed
the birds chattering
in my skull
at dinner
or on the phone
with my mother?
What if I called north
south and disdain
desire? What if closed
doors were invitations?
What if, instead of
dishes in the dark,
I waxed witty in a bright
sliding dress
among the knot
of wags under
the center lights?
What if we don’t?
Or we do, depending
on the light
and the particular tremor
of expectation and years
gone by?
What if we changed
all the rules,
turned the clocks
on their heads
and crowned the fool?