Taking Heart

This fluke where the eye had been bountiful,
            its object crashed where X marks,
swathed in black cloth, imperturbable,
but harming tempered glass —

meteors shamefaced every head that counted,
sloppy space shrunk into an obelisk
            within whose shade
franchise had been scripted, up-to-date

free speech found its mounts necessitate
Department of State approval, global
answers fell short,
convulsed too clearly round a disk cartouche.

What dumps all over us, off what side let slip.
Such being no more than we mean,
a slice of the take
still too hot to eat. A sub, or a finger-roll,

multi-grain, served heated, napkin-swathed,
sunk as though from within by microwave,
            says yes to the offer, squirts
distilling vapour, struggles aloft.