Spring. We’ve gotten to the end
of a twelve-pack
of toilet paper
and also our winter colds
the long days
of manufacturing
mucous
the nights
where we heaped ourselves
into bed
where it is not a question
of who snores
and who doesn’t
but who falls asleep
first
1 comment:
note to self:
heaped ourselves
into bed
like yeasty lumps
thumped flat
by four am hairy knuckles
overlaid
by damp tea towels
expected to rise
like a woman forced
to heap oranges
into a hotel towel
and hand them to
the man who will
beat her
and expect her to rise
Post a Comment