When a Genre Crosses the Tracks

Mary stops at security,
says her department
will be gone
by November. Just
like
that.

She’s not worried yet,
speculates on how many more
cuts will occur.

Her daydream slips on
the banana peel of night.

And as she walks
away, I think;
this is like watching
one of those old
horror films where a hundred
people are suddenly whacked
and the monster has
yet to be given
a face.