Untitled: Steven Childress


By: Trent Busch


Sometimes I do not want to talk,

she said. Sometimes I know no one

but myself and by myself know

everybody else, which leads to error.


You, you have the salesman in you,

can talk to any strangers, sell them

a truck, a lake, a ticket to

a foreign place not on their map.


And make it stick. I do not call

you charlatan. Not a con man.

Not a bad man, yet who makes us

see it in ourselves what we lack.


Sometimes what I want is to be

a single daisy in a field

and be mistaken yet believe

all flowers have to share is chance.


I see you nod your head. I see

your willingness to agree that

eyes a light shade of blue might be

green. Oh, I see you smile good things.


You want sea shells on a beach, you

want a hundred boxes neatly stacked,

endings fixed, and in the end agree

to disagree without a twist.