Guzzling a slurpie
On the bus, moist towellettes
Clutched to his breast bone.
He desires the grape
He wants the
Coke. He makes a
Made evident by
The pallid rolls of sweat
On upper lip
Fur matted ice stain.
And fruit ephemera.
He wants a refill.
* William Carlos William – To a Poor Old Woman
This astute remark from my sister,
as she looks slant-eyed at our front lawn.
She is looking at the Big Gulp cup,
the Taco Bell sauce packet,
and perhaps remembering the Tidy Cats kitty litter multi-gallon jug,
which, like a woodland sprite once danced over to our yard
from our neighbor’s open, gaping trash heap.
I wonder if my neighbor’s have scurvy,
and can’t possible drag themselves from their teeming,
sweating beds of loose bowelled despair to find a lid for their trash can.
I think I will leave some apples on their lawn tonight,
Maybe a printout from home depot advertising new trash cans.
I would argue obselencence
that these jazz hand manacles turned out into the rain
like sometimes the rain
off those —
the sloppy roof gutters
sounds like a man spitting
isn’t it incredible?
that i will get up at 5 am to worship you?
i find it incredible that children find relevance in a piece of old rag
yes i keep my own
yes i am
a child still
yes i know which drawer locks
yes i know the way into middle age
the middle ages were brutal.
Against most explicit instructions
I touched my eye after discharging a gun.
I also chewed on my fingernail.
Psychosomatically in the moment I thought I could feel grit
Grinding against my lenses.
Felt that maybe possibly I could feel
The grit slowly slowly with every swallow
Easing itself into my stomach
This morning I woke up with a red welt under my left tear duct.
I carried one bulls-eye in my back pocket
Took it out for anyone to see
My many (two) battle scars.