how to read this poem
I suggest a system. A lifeboat. Or at the very least a bathtub.
I suggest you sit down.
I suggest the bird at your shoulder be ruby-throated with a milky eye. That it say inapropriate things at inappropriate times.
I suggest bringing something ruined. Or broken. Or drunk.
I suggest you take the south road. Slip beneath the piano and out the trap
door. Sneak up on it from behind.
I suggest you take a snack. An umbrella. A dictionary.
I suggest you start slowly.
I suggest you read the red skirt as a metaphor for sex. The fistful of poppies
languishing in their vase.
I suggest everything is a metaphor for sex. Even the bird.
I suggest you mind the foil, toiling in the background. It’s all very
Shakespearean. Even her red hair, very Shakespearean.
I suggest you take the setting into consideration. Or here, where the narrative
slips off its track.
I suggest you look askance when the woman opens her arms and lowers them.
I suggest you be kind. But distracted.