by Satch Dobrey
{scene}
Opapi Room with unplayed piano,
plush chairs, couch, parking lot outside window.
The length of the reflected room’s impasse,
compared to the weight of the sheets of glass,
appeared to expand if viewed from outside
along each wall, focused on the inside,
{inspection}
where those identical sheets of paper,
lined up as a testament, surrender
to fate, unpredictable circumstance
of stolen art replaced by words of chance,
graduate art show sans art, turned inwards
missing the artist, her glancing outwards.
{what if}
We formed a perfect parallel concept
gone out to the parking lot, laid down, slept.
[Satch Dobrey has a B.A. in English from Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville and an M.A. in International Affairs from Washington University in St. Louis. Recent poetry appears in Bluestem, Rampike, Grey Borders Magazine, Red Earth Review, Painters and Poets and Blotterature. Fiction appears in Tribe Magazine and the Blue Fifth Review. Creative Non-fiction in OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters.]
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