Duncan Slagle | Poem

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Clinic

The orchids smell like iron. The air is calm
as a nursery. The door has a spine
thirty two padlocks. The chairs are restless.
Eyes darting between each upholstered fold.   No razors. No rope. No pills.
No hiding spots, purgatory without
its numb glamour. The waiting room is just a holding
cell, where inmates sweat into the warden’s
IKEA cushions.

Where the orchids grow mouths, with
plastic teeth, sharpened to a point.
The wire reinforced windows could be broken. Glass shards, or, a noose
………………………………………………………………………………………………….(If you tried hard enough).

A population of ghosts rise out of the carpet.

They assume their old routine;
Food & Wine magazine,
quiet Bluetooth conversation.
The kid plays with a puzzle.

The padlocks begin bleeding,
The door folds over its bones, onto the ground.
Its chest begins to heave.

Nobody is surprised.
……..Nobody even tries to leave.

.

.


Duncan Slagle is a queer poet and performer from Minneapolis. He is currently a student in First Wave’s 11th Cohort at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He served as a member of the 2017 Youth Advisory Board for TruArtSpeaks, a Twin Cities literary nonprofit. He loves birds.

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2018-01-22T11:55:56+00:00