Jen Frantz

Door-to-Door

It’s only a scheme
if you’re clever
by the end—
my soft focus
is another man’s
market. I have
a knife that
shifts in order,
but you’re
telling me
I could love
the great waves;
I could even
confront
the moon, say
O moon—
shuddering
to think of large
objects, and
you’re telling me
I just need
to zest a lemon
or butter toast
with this bright
and happy toy,
made by people
who care about
what hands and
eyes do all day,
and then I would
really respect
the sea, because
I would go there
cheaply always, and
people would stop
for my loving
intent, and you
would stop
for my loving
intent, as you sell
to me, O moon,
my very own reaction.