this is not a drill

poet: cut me down to size. 
with words as arrows or knives
with sleeves inked with sweat
tears tear me down. 

poet: i can take it. 
do you? do you know how to
thread the needle and
leave me bare?

poet this is not 
a drill is not an auction
it is a precaution
and this is not a drill

i need to know. 
tell me what you see. 
believe me when i say
with reddened lips 

i’m ready. 
i’m ready, poet. 
are you? to do 
what you need to do?