Wish Granted
Maurice Oliver

A car horn puntuates
the trumpet solo.

Then later,
as wood stacks like bread,
pure desire arrives by train,
altering the translation process
so that everything else is shaped
like the nozzle of a fireman’s hose
and wears colors that go with red
hair. Now, it processes the ability
to reshape itself into something
kiosk-like on a whim and is clearly
worth the hundred million dollar
prize money. With elaborate wheels
levers keypads & dials it can vary
between summer flesh & winter bone
then light up to indicate high alert,
with a central control panel that
has a sodium beam strong enough
to clarify even the foggiest notion.

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