Apartment Poetry Quarterly

4A              4B              4C              4D              4E              4F


4D Cecily Iddings



But all your peers are dead and

Gone. But who cares. It's not

A popularity contest, comforting.

It's a cold bed like an unkind

Massage school. Your every redoubt

Overrun by masses of bodies

Of the wrong age: her face too

Too, his affect effacing.

Be gentle to him.

Or alive, but deaf and dumb?

Say after we die we're just

No one, who's it hurt?

I want to touch hands.

Only meat can like you.

Only meat like you.

Old soul, kin, it might be

The universe's center,



What's the opposite of hump day?

It's Tuesday! The pen goes drip drip

In my purest of gestures the blot

Which you interpret as asymmetrical

Warfare like the dull troll says drones

Don't exist silly I choose non-

Dress for our special bonding time

During which you may feel the hurray

In my new form of address miss me

The way my mother being moved

From waiting to exam room to which

No corresponding doctor attends misses

Authority who is coming to the castle

He is coming I am coming I am—

We don't arrive after all at the opposite

Of my opposite should be me and isn't

My mechanical arm reaches out

To pet you lovey to pat you flat to force

The kids to mean what we mean

To wheedle out of you the magic



Anxious alone I would raise a second

Comer I said bye to my maybe baby

He was of water more than wine

He would've wailed I didn't

When the storm was coming all

The water went first pulled off-shelf

Like waves pull from the shore

Where the longer they leave the harder

They come

He couldn't miss me nor I him

My voice broke I glued my eyes

To keep it together NO CRYBABIES

They say at the door since sweeties

We are made confectionery

And I forgot becoming

Him into me melts me into you

Coming to I felt helter skelter felt



I could've been a contender I mean

I should've probably invested in real

Estate by this late date

Nobody gave me a superlative

My friend got the wrong one

He got grumpy and you'd've unliked

Yours too isn't it nice

To spend some hours wondering why

You don't all laugh more

At my jokes since I'm funny ha

Ha though strangely hard to train

Failing for example to appreciate

The tyger tyger for far far longer

Than I should've and still fuzzy

Even on the Number One Painter of Light

Despite having an imperialist's grasp

Of story this voice of mine offends

Me awfully some nights I dance

To the beat of the unkinder parent

But better thought sobbed seeing

It's true I'm buried too

In happy days