Christopher Iacono

Poetry

When Narcissus Met Himself

Who is this I see in the water? Could

it be the lover I’ve been searching

for all these years but didn’t think

existed? Come closer to me. Why

won’t you move? What do you say?

Your lips move, yet you remain silent.

I inch closer to you, water

touches my lips, your kiss drips

away from my mouth before I taste

it. I kiss you again. Why must you

tease me. A breeze comes, your face

ripples. I want to stay here forever,

gaze at your face, kiss your watery

lips even if they never satisfy me.

My legs join, my arms become one

with my torso, my skin turns green,

my body shrinks. White petals sprout

around my neck, a yellow cup covers

my face, keeping my lips away from

yours, deafening me, blinding me,

taking you away from me forever.

Robots

Wash

glass / clean

work areas / Help

at the construction site /

supply tools / paint surfaces / operate

buses, trucks, trains, boats, and airplanes /

remove impurities from coal / prepare meals / appraise

real property / develop solutions / diagnose problems of the

oral and maxillofacial regions / move materials around a warehouse /

treat diseases / act as security / use one-way mirrors and audio/video

equipment to watch for irregular activities such as cheating or theft /

provide verbal and written reports of all suspicious behavior / direct

a post office / perform surgery to improve appearance of

casino workers / conduct research to determine the effects

of drugs on living organisms / instruct children /

promote social, physical, and intellectual growth /

coordinate activities in preschool or

other child development facility.

Robots are watching.

You are

doomed.

Source: https://willrobotstakemyjob.com

Twenty-Fourth Night

Night falls.

They lurk in the shadows

merging with darkness.

You can’t see them,

but they can see you

slipping under the sheets,

wrapping them around your body

as if the soft fabric could protect you.

You lie against the pillow

reminding you of a mother’s bosom.

You close your eyes,

surrendering yourself to the comfort

of your bed.

A false comfort.

From their lair in the shadows,

the invaders grin, surround you

from all sides, thicken the air

over you, crawl on you,

bind your limbs, cover your mouth,

pierce your skin with their claws,

drag you into their lair

deep in the darkness.

Your sheets and pillows

can’t protect you now.

Only the impenetrable,

suffocating dark

will save you

from the horrors

of the night.

Christopher Iacono lives with his wife and son in Massachusetts. You can learn more about him and his works at cuckoobirds.org.