This ceiling fan spins with such shaky vigor
that I can’t help but imagine the dropping of a single blade –
dropping out with no reduction in horizontal speed.
It would cut a person wide open
so that all may see
what he or she was made of.
In my mind, the blood is dark like wine
and it spreads to cover the floor
in a shiny coat of the most expensive polish
as all the people around stare in dismay
at their newly soaked socks.