We succumb to voices
wandering along edges of
our clicking brains
itch in response
to constant calls
be pleased at extra time devoted
to rumination and illumination
to tear away at base comfort
to rip apart contentedness
with signs laminated and animated
many people are speaking to us
respond with more than fawning nods
simple and easy ideas
uniform teachers gave us as preteens.
We know that they know that we know that they know.
The hope now is to advance,
not be that blasé driver
who merges into roundabouts
doesn’t know how to exit properly
stuck in circles with cinderblock feet
By Kevin Risner
Kevin Risner is a product of Ohio and has lived there for most of his life except for brief stints in England and Turkey. At the present, he resides in the Cleveland area where he is ESL Coordinator at the Cleveland Institute of Art. His poetry can be found in The Mill (University of Toledo), Red Paint Hill, Red Flag Poetry, and Silver Birch Press.