I live in minefields, study dioramas
of disaster, pose in crime scenes. I pay
attention. Last night, I overheard a woman
in a restaurant complain that her friend always
confuses Nothing is better with Better than
nothing. I once rented an apartment near
a clinic with a sign that declared Walk-in
Emergencies Welcome, a consolation
of which I never availed myself. Nothing
can be better, the numbness a relief even
if the lack of feeling indicates danger
in a triage situation. What can I say? I’ve
always ignored Do Not Enter Signs. Brave, stupid,
willful? It all depends on the ending. Let’s face it,
this game should have been mercied a long time ago.
Michelle Brooks has published a collection of poetry, Make Yourself Small, (Backwaters Press), and a novella, Dead Girl, Live Boy, (Storylandia Press). A native Texan, she has spent much of her adult life in Detroit, her favorite city.
