Houdini - Lindsay McLeod

Sometimes they pass me the key 

without even knowing it from 

their own mouths, their tongues

on the tip of a kiss, the way out

picking the locks and screwing 

the tumblers from the inside 

of what we once thought was 

a safe as safe in love as houses

teeth to chew through the ropes

of a relationship breached by an 

iceberg when only one of us can 

fit on the floating door darling

an off ramp on a rocky road

where it all comes down to ice

cream, you scream, the police

come, it's awkward

but when the plane goes down

this whole contortionist thing 

comes in handy for folding 

oneself back into the black box

but it's all so, oh I don't know...

almost anecdotal why I can't

fall without breakage now, my

hip or my heart or my horseshoe

'coz Spring doesn't spring so well 

any more not like it used to leap

from the highest diving board

into a trembling glass of water

the pool is so much shallower

since, and let's face it so am I,  

wrung out and wond'rin' what 

might swim beneath the splash

but still I climb toward a launch,

a hunk of hedonism in my pocket

to see what I might find behind 

my cloud on the other side.

Originally published by WORDS DANCE, 2016

Lindsay McLeod lives on the Australian coast where he is herded daily by his Blue Heeler, Mary. His poetry can be found online easily and appears most recently in PULSEBEAT, HOOLET'S NOOK and AS IT OUGHT TO BE.