The gloved hand tapping the table,
hiding its nail from the world,
clawing to come out and show you
things are never as they seem,
the stage is set, they’re ready to
leave as you enter.
The gloves come off, time has passed,
it’s all too late, no stool to sit on,
just leather shoes on the floor board
and a lone figure smoking,
you wonder where they’re from,
you know you ought to know,
You’re looking for a way out,
like when at a party and someone
enters you into a conversation,
you see the exit,
their foot hits the ground,
you turn around, they shoot you dead
square between the eyes.
The gloves go back on,
the gun sits there,
they leave a trace.
Credit note: “Soprano” by MaryJane Thomson is published in her collection Lonely Earth (HeadworX, 2015), which is available from HeadworX.
Tim says: Whether the “Soprano” in question is Tony I’m not sure, but I like this ominous, tightly wound poem from MaryJane’s new collection.
MaryJane Thomson is an artist, writer and photographer living in Wellington, New Zealand. Her poems are from her second poetry collection Lonely Earth (HeadworX, 2015). Her website is www.maryjanethomson.com
MaryJane’s poems have appeared in Black Mail Press, Valley Micropress and broadsheet. Her first book, a memoir Sarah Vaughan is Not my Mother (Awa Press, 2013), was widely reviewed in NZ papers/magazines. Kim Hill interviewed Thomson in 2013. In 2015, the international website Outcryer (USA) featured her poetry.