what instruments to measure
BY HEATHER HUGHES
You meant “mercury” not “mercy.”
I misread. I do that.
Waiting for the aquarium gurgle
of circulating heat.
I’m headstrong over heels.
Mercury confuses my spectral
lines, hums ultraviolet,
then the fluorescent light kicks
awake. “Fetish” not
“fish.” Oh. I misheard.
You ask for a sorcerer,
and I spat up a salmon.
It’s wild. Should be low
contamination. When I
roll up my sleeves:
just sleeves. I’m chopping
fishheads in heels. I’m heaping
the plates, and you require a show,
so I’m heaving like yet another
serious low pressure zone.
Call me the girl offstage about
to be sawn in half. Sequined, no.
Scaly and pink. It’s a joke, that old
classic sitcom crash. And won’t
the neighbors laugh, darling. You
ask for a catalyst. I’m that thing
you play noxious. I can’t melt
any faster.
