Interrupting An Addict in  General   

An afternoon inlaid with fog
like a little fishing village.

Did I come at the wrong time?
Knicked with knife and soaked overnight,

your thinking came out curved—
a paisley. I was hacking my way

through creepers
at a defunct railroad crossing

when I asked, If it's none
of my business

why am I making a profit?
But as for you,

nothing was going on in Kubla Khan
except that you were drawing

your mind up before us
like a poison-stickled sea sponge.

Your dreamy portals were greased
all afternoon by blowflies fresh from sheep—

or sleep. I meant to say your sleep gave you
hours of swaddlings,

narcotics,
interruptions.

By Lee Upton

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Other poems by Lee Upton:

• Apology To Keats
• Destruction Of Daughters
• Hog Roast
• Indispensable Sign
• Interrupting An Addict
• The Broom
• The Crying Room
• The Fish House
• The How And Why Of Rocks And Minerals
• The Table