The Wheel of Fortune
by Suzanne Langlois

is flat and I don’t have a jack
or a tire iron, or a clue how to use
one except maybe to kill a man

but it keeps spinning anyway
all wobbly and with that thwump
thwump of a thing that should
be round but isn’t

and the people passing me
are gesturing wildly out
their windows and I just
wave back

gripping the wheel like the stem
of a wine glass or a penis I don’t
know how to operate, and I’d like
to buy a vowel

whichever one will allow me
the longest uninterrupted scream
I’d like to spin again and again
until it’s time to go back

to my dressing room, wipe off
my eyebrows, shuck this girdle,
and pour a glass of whatever will
blur the letters

into a puddle of spilled ambition,
and think about how I got here,
what series of accidents led
to these high heels,

this vacant smile, this shiny
new car spinning on its lazy Susan,
glittering and depreciating
by the second,

its hubcaps gleaming under
the studio lights, begging
take me, take me, I am yours
for the taking

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 2.

Suzanne LangloisSuzanne Langlois lives in Portland, Maine, where she teaches high school English. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Fourth River, Rust + Moth, DeLuge, Off the Coast, Rattle, and Menacing Hedge. Her work has also been featured on the Button Poetry Channel.

See all items about Suzanne Langlois

Visit Suzanne Langlois’s contributors page.

Leave a Reply