Waiting for the Answer

She won’t take no for an answer. Nor will she trust yes.

What will she take for an answer – an educated guess?

Not unless what feeds the blind surmise has some

relation to what human eyes have only seen peripherally

on the sly. She’ll listen to the lone reply which, passing,

nods to the overt but readily cavorts with the covert,

whose sense suggests a density, and never offers

recompense to any expectation; she’ll listen for a hint,

but mostly heed the wanton cry, the banshee wail whose

note is hard to tell from wind in sail; the herald who proclaims

an arbitrary list of names as if each had precisely equal

meaning, leaning toward whatever momentary spurt

of motion has occurred, is spurred on less by void than it

avoids a cancer. That’s what she’ll take for an answer.

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