Tracy K. Smith
Igor at Gunpoint
Everything important happens at night,
This isn't a joke.
When I say so, you're gonna raise up your hands.
For years, your back to me made a continent.
I roamed it. Like wading the desert after dark.
Nice and slow. Now higher.
Far away voices
Reached me as indecipherable sound, sped past.
And when I say so, one at a time,
You're gonna empty your pockets.
You were a world, do you understand?
You—did I stutter?—
All night wind raced the plains. I lived there
Alone, not wanting to leave.
You. And you.
Sometimes, I want to remind you of something.
Don't fool with me. You'll get hurt.
I made you.
Put down your arms.
This is over.