E-Z

E-Z

E-Z Keyz and Lox. E-Z Cleaners.
Hertz Carz: Let Yourz Be Ourz.


Why. Z’s in for S’s are repulsive,
twisted the wrong way, sticking

to the teeth as they buzz out the
ends of words. The sound is right,

almost, but heavier, scratching up
the voices dragging it out. Visually,

even, it is grotesque. The eye’s
stomach churns at the scissored

version of the word. Easy, those
hills you like to drive through,

the meandering freeway, goldenrod,
green fields, the end of the y dangling

down like a cat’s tail as it sits
on the window sill. E-Z slices

out two vowels, tacks the capital
letters together with a hyphen,

scotch tape. A botched surgery,
suggestive of an eye chart, of

weakening vision, an amputated
alphabet. This is not what we want

from experience, life balled-up
and hollowed out, a one-stop shop

so we can get in and get out, forget.
But ease, we do long for that, and

the acknowledgement that when
things break, parts of us must halt,

must ask strangers for repairs
that happen carefully, gently.