stretch out and let the man do his job
It all begins with an idea.
flecks of red
on lily white labcoat
I’ll give you a ride into town
Unless you’d rather walk six miles
he puts a handkerchief to his mouth and hacks
there’s something about an airplane that reminds you of being at the doctor
the crack of a complimentary ginger ale crinkling in your throat like butcher paper against your back
you stretch out and let the man do his job
she kisses the door when he leaves
It’s lovely here; I’m glad we came
pressure drop in the cabin
you watch the fibers swell wetly
you’ve only ever seen this in movies
We’ll show em once and for all who owns these cow towns
just allergies, he says, throwing two chips on the table, pulling the mask over his face just like it shows on the pamphlet, How about some stud, I’m in a charitable mood tonight
Anybody else wanna try their luck
joy
It all begins with an idea.
my father in an old
knitted sweater, holds his profile to the light
turns back and looks at
his cast shadow. says who do I look like
“Do I look. Like Hemingway from here?”
in a dream you saw
joy and it looked like
your mother’s damp cheekbones
curses
spilling onto her eyelids
like particles from a brick
smashed on concrete, settling on clean cotton
clear and loud muffled
by the silence of Sunday morning,
just to feel the joy of something breaking