I turned you and you slipped off—cold, heavy
brass in my bewildered hand
as your counterpart
dropped on the other side, baritone clunk
against the hardwood,
nothing to say but
what rose to my lips: "Whoops."
I wobbled from wine, so
sliding your spindle
through the spindle hub
wasn't easy, the other guests
tipsy in the living room, oblivious
to my clumsy handiwork—that goes into
There is a click, a round
gold sound that tells me
I fixed you.
O, if only
you could return the favor, repair this
small defect of my mind,
wiring with the on/off switch
that sinks me
mercilessly into darkness
no matter where the sun is.
The Threepenny Review Summer 2012
Copyright © 2012 by David Hernandez
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission