CENTRAL REVIEW • SPRING 2020 • 37
The Versatility of Please by Jenna Keson If I am the sail, rip through and guide me please. If you are the captain, I will follow you wherever you please. Tame your clenched fists and white knuckles, return your arms to your side, please. He stands firm and tall when his wife begs but crumples whenever his mistress pouts “pretty please.” Take my hand and run with me through the trees, branches stinging like the belt your father used. Please? If you must leave, when you turn around don’t look back. If you must leave, forget me please. Question: Why do melodies trickle out of finches at unexpected times? Answer: Because they have no one to please. Apple crumble cools on the worn windowsill. “Oh darling, would you like a piece?” Yes, ma’am, please. Engine stalled, door slammed, tow company called, no attention paid to the man with a cardboard sign, “Spare change please.” Ombre brown leaves swirl beside cold, overgrown grass. Just one more day of summer, Mother Nature, please. Tight hands tear a child, no more than four, from her mother’s limp embrace like generations before. “No, mommy, please!” I’ve never liked the attitude of locks; their isolation and suffocation. Quite frankly, I hold the Keys and do as I please.
