Easy Street

Kateri Lanthier was born in Toronto and raised in St. Catharines, Sudbury and Kingston. Her...

 

You won’t end up on Easy Street if you wear that hair-of-the-dog shirt.
No amount of rehearsed apology will get you to Carnegie Hall.

We’re bittersweet? Then let me count the ways, I mean, the petals.
O let me plant my kisses all along your neck of the woods.

You say you’ll be my mirror…You’re more like my indoor plunge pool.
When I finally looked you in the eye, sorrow skipped a beat.

7 a.m., looking eastward: Socked in the eye by a rose bouquet.
7 p.m.: My heart’s on ice. I’m buying that sunset a drink.

The furthest thing from your mind is closer than it appears.
The many-navelled mattress doesn’t care which side is up.

And every dinosaur was just a lizard who spoke Latin.
Curiosity killed the Cheshire-Cat. Now I wear his grin.

Asleep, fat cat’s a half moon; skinny one, a new.
Keep me as an illegal pet. My thoughts are actionable.

No accounting for taste? Actually, it’s all too easy.
It’s all too easy to follow your cyber-trail through the bushes.

Ah, teeny birds that slepen al the nyght with open ye…
What are their screen names? Jessica, Jennifer and Ingenuous.

Splendor, Good Cheer and Mirth—two-thirds of the Graces are pleasant?
Give me compelling melancholy. Not butterfly-rose tattoos.

Maple schemes to be a redhead; birch and aspen, to be blonde.
Playing all week in the Pine Gloom Room: Your Melancholy Baby.

The oaks are immobile at eye level. Above your head, they’re frantic.
It’s all on her head? So be it. Caryatid couldn’t care less.