The Haunting of Archer Avenue, by Kristy Bowen
June 14, 2007
The Haunting of Archer Avenue
For the most part it’s all true:
the white dress and fade. Radio
static and the street slicked black
as cats. Ask me where the light goes
and I say dance halls, their music
dwindling to a note that silks along
the inner ear. But here, I’m
an understudy of dark, the slip
in the shadow that speaks
like a girl, but isn’t. Kiss me
and I taste like broken light bulbs.
Batteries draining in parking lots.
Doubt inhabits the space between cars,
the drag of headlights over grass
just thickening in the cold. Imagine,
if you will, the pitch between stoplights.
Kiss me and the landscape swerves left.