In the Rockaway

Blaze the trail, but remain incognito,
The doctors told me from photocopied scripts.
Do you find yourself staring long
And having grandiose thoughts

During sunsets? No.
The silent oranges blazed,
But dusk had yet to inform me
On the perils of night, the strange

Faces of lost time. All was quiet.
Am I going to die if I fall asleep?
They sent me on my way.
At the witching hour

I made for the hill, shredded
The prescription and its paper bag.
The moon watched birds,
Scatter to the feed. I disrobed,

Asked the passing carriage,
Do you recommend
I involve a machete
and keep to the woods?

When We Were Young:

Toph Eggers on cuisine, other things

I tiptoe past his laboratory,
taking all pains not to
‘dismantle the symposium
of Greatness.’ A rope of light

is yanked through the loose
seal of his door as he hears
my tracks slide near. Is it
ready, yet? the door will

yell in no less than fifteen
variations over the next
racket of surgical moans.
It’s a good thing

I’ve marinated scallops
in lime juice and cilantro,
can then go about a quick
pan-sear to accommodate

our Hard Little Worker’s
needs. As I stir to flesh
his strawberry milk, cue
up Rescue 911, he screams

‘Be there in a minute’
and I know 1=10, so I cap
the plates with a hot pan,
shed the foil of a few Kisses,

shoot hoop on the Nerf,
and recite the first quatrains
of a sonnet he’s egged me
on to recite at the next Might

release. ‘Unveil the ottomans
of the sea, spritely pincushion
of my woes,’ he demands
of the streaked window. &,

‘I thought it was star fruit
demiglaze and kale bain
marie?’ I remind him,
‘Beggars can’t be…’

‘Thanks Mom, er… Toph.
fuck, did I really just say
that? Mortal Combat
at sunrise?’ He tells me,

flat left hand buoying
the grub. Reaching back
to swipe up the cutlery
in a scroll with his right

as he bounds
for the vault.