No Return

By William Matthews

I like divorce. I love to compose

letters of resignation; now and then

I send one in and leave in a lemon-

hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor.

Do you like the scent of a hollyhock?

To each his own. I love a burning bridge.

I like to watch the small boat go over

the falls — it swirls in a circle

like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow

pokes blindly out over the falls' lip

a little and a little more and then

too much, and then the boat's nose dives and butt

flips up so that the boat points doomily

down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead

last longer by echo than the screamers do.

Let's go to the videotape, the news-

caster intones, and the control room does,

and the boat explodes again and again.