Every day upon entering the coliseum,
I see it
Well-crafted from exotic hardwoods
Stolen, I’m sure, from some forest primeval
Hand-polished brass hardware makes certain
All submissions remain confidential
Goddamn thing probably cost more than
I make in a week
Passing by, I project poison through the dark slot
A gill of gall in your hogshead of cream
The unspoken knowledge that if I told you what
I really thought
The linoleum floor would rend beneath your feet
You would become helplessly entangled
In basement chain and sour mop heads — things
you know nothing about
My first suggestion would be to get rid of that box
