From CutBank 74
Lights Out
The fuse box
is a medicine-
bank, an ark
of home remedies.
The buttons crumble
like aspirin, taste
like tonic water
washed down with lime.
I feel altogether
brisk, bundled in
nerves that won’t
quiet—it’s a question
of pacing and I’m having
trouble with your protons.
Our bodies blink
like traffic lights. Green
for go. Red to falter.
Yellow, I forget.
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Adam O. Davis' work has appeared in many journals, including Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, The Paris Review, Oxford Poetry, and The Southern Review. His manuscript, Index of Haunted Houses, has been a finalist for publication by Barrow Street, Salt Publishing, and Tupelo Press. He lives in San Diego and can be found at www.adamodavis.com.