Poetry

You’d think by now I’d know it’s not The mixing of drink, but the absence Of water that makes the head ring, Unsnoozably, mornings like these. Consequence of Fat Tuesday,

holding you down my arms wrapped tight around your body like plastic wrap, like cocoon silk my fingers over your eyes, in your ears smearing my lipstick all over your body, my lips

The Swiffer glides, exactly as advertised, Smoothly around the floor. I am in awe, Or an infomercial. Beneath the bureau, surprised, The dust bunnies have been busy, And run like Auden’s years

One ‘yes’ and our doors blew open into sleepless nights, emergency room visits, social worker calls, and milky white spit-up on every shirt, couch, and rug we own. Some days neglecting hospitality seems

We lounge at the expense of lounging like some lazy tabby now vexed in the shade because the sun has moved like hungry alabaster Narcissus drooping to himself like an ice-weighted Georgian conifer