Poem for “T”

Straight-shooting
utilitarian T,
balance beam
expectant of the snatch-
thump of gymnast’s
powdered hands,
settling the matter
of equilibrium
onto a birdless, wire-
less telephone pole,
abject over horizon,
watch for the topple
onto proud dinner table
top, nothing elegant as
an empty scale, as in justice
deliberating its hang-
dog demeanor on the pop
drop of wine, liquid weight —
coat rack, crucifix
and imagined body,
mostly mortal form with
arms splayed while
walking the line,
tilting a bit on tightrope
and walking again,
at the intersection of world
and vision, weapon,
crossbow, gavel —
the essence of time
which is all we’ve got
along with our cut of steak,
charts and the like,
shaped like a savior.

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