I am not exactly sure when
they traded places.
The supplanter, the displaced,
the daughters of Isaac.
It happened sometime before
the alarm clock rang. Sometime
between the tap on the shoulder
and the straddle of the hip.
There is usually a cautionary word
between one runner and the next
to warn about the exchange of the baton.
But not this time. There was no warning,
no approaching footsteps by one,
no reaching back by the other.
No halt of the race to exchange jockeys.
It was you that bounced
on my hips in the darkness
but someone else’s name that I called out.
DQ 10/19/07
