After Neruda
Office guillotine,
formidable utility.
You accomplish your one task,
one-armed.
Even in the copy room of the Divinity School—
renovated, reformed—
with its touchscreen scanner/copier
and complex color-coded recycling station,
you look as if you’ve been here
since before women were admitted.
Your patina worthy of an appraiser,
your ka-chunk always satisfying.
Does your keen blade ever dull?
Is there anyone who grips your worn palm
and tests your strength
who does not consider
how their own sentence could be severed
in an instant?
