At the Printer’s During Election
Season | Cheryl Dyer
At the sound of the door buzzer, you emerge
from the backroom of this dusty building
that shakes with the rumbling and thudding
of printing machines. They sound like angry ogres
stomping about, grinding out the thousands
of shiny fliers that are daily boxed up,
and shipped out to every house in the city.
I imagine they’ve not stopped for weeks
and you reek of body odor and have dark rings
under your eyes like you’ve been the one
to stay awake and prod these monsters
to keep churning out papers plastered
with angry faces, big red ‘X’s and words
like evil, devastate, and surrender.
You made time, though, to hear me out
about printing something different.
When I mention artwork, I see you soften,
like, I really see your shoulders relax and you lean
forward as I pull out a piece from the portfolio
that shimmers with speckles of patent gold.
It is something that makes no claims. Or maybe
does make claims– wild claims.
But, it causes nothing to splinter apart,
no one cowers when it speaks.
About the Author:
Cheryl Dyer is a poet, visual artist, and calligrapher residing in Omaha, NE where she lives with her partner as a new empty-nester. She recently graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Nebraska in Omaha. She has received Honorable Mention for the Helen Kenefick Poetry Prize twice and has had work published in several literary journals, such as The Gilded Weathervane, Tethered Literary, and River and South Review.