From the Empirical Archives: Driving by Carol V. Davis

Driving

Carol V. Davis

Originally published in the January 2013 issue of Empirical

I never did drive in Russia,

even after all those years.

The possibility of it so horrifying.

The way drivers there carve out a lane

between two others, even in city center.

Some would say it’s their right, having waited

all those years to buy a car and then having to suffer

such indignities: windshield wipers swiped at night,

even with glaring streetlights spying on you.

And the GAI, the traffic police, waving cars over

into their webs, not freeing them without a bribe.

But maybe you deserved what you got

when your car was vandalized, fool that you were

to leave those blades lying so prettily on the windshield.

Those were Soviet times.

Now there’s no waiting to buy a car, though

not everyone has that kind of cash lying around.

Still a Land Rover is pretty tempting, the lovely

wooden dashboard just asking for it, windows that smoothly glide.

Just consider the people trudging along the sidewalks

or stranded by trams that never come when

the temperature plunges below zero.

You wouldn’t want to trade places now, would you?

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From the Empirical Archives: Voices II by Carol V. Davis

Voices II

Carol V. Davis

Originally published in the December 2012 issue of Empirical

It didn’t matter

whether we believed her or not

the dead kept on speaking:

whom to trust

who would betray her

After the voices stopped whispering

they took to the airwaves but only she could decipher

the code

the way a scientist sequences

genes while the rest of us only see floating quotation marks

I never knew why I landed in her column of dependables

was slightly offended as if I were not as

dangerous as I like to think

the last time I saw her she was

digging up her garden

all that beautiful dying

black tulips tossed on a pile

two-toned narcissus yanked by the stems

purity she wanted a native garden

spiked succulents to shield her

salvia to keep the fires at bay

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From the Empirical Archives: Molar by Carol V. Davis

Molar

Carol V. Davis

Originally published in the November 2012 issue of Empirical

In the end, the sky did not fall,

nor the earth move, for that matter.

Only the squat tooth rumbled

in its cage, saying:

Enough confinement, set me free!

Worried it would incite its neighbors,

urge the other molars to take up the chant,

loosen from their moorings, I pleaded

with the dentist to see me on his day off.

When he turned off the spot light and

lowered the chair, he warned of a

year-long relationship.

I regretted that call, sure this

half-hour encounter would cause

an earthquake in the bank account.

Why is every small decline of the body

a betrayal, as if a treaty had been broken

or a faithful ally switched sides without warning?

I stepped out of the medical building,

the sky darkening under the threat of rain.

Circling crows landed in pairs on the broken sidewalk,

one to distract the woman, the other to snatch her purse.

Or maybe they knew what went on behind closed doors.

Were going to make a run for it, gathering those gold

and silver nuggets the dentist surely hoards.

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From the Empirical Archives: What I'd Ban by Carol V. Davis

What I'd Ban

Carol V. Davis

Originally published in the November 2012 issue of Empirical

If I were queen of the world,

Dictator, Minister of Culture, I’d ban the phrase

At the end of the day, especially this election season

with the endless whine of interviews.

My husband vows to prohibit golf, but what’s

so bad about it, other than the dumb outfits?

Middle-aged men should stay away from shorts

that turn knees into the knobs of walking sticks.

I despise purposeful misspellings.

Do you really gain anything by dropping a letter?

Light to lite or night to nite?

I’m starting to sound like Andy Rooney now, but thick

as my hair is, I’ll never match those eyebrows.

When Rooney’d get really annoyed, they’d start to twitch ,

twin propellers warming up on a prop plane.

Or a pair of moths about to swoop in tandem

to attack a tree dripping with ripe peaches.

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