Shit O’Clock


The wide shouldered yardarm 

is no help

not even with his promise that soon

this will end.


You have broken two glasses

your sister is locked out in the rain;

our food is burning;

we all have bare feet.

And even as I pick you up

and lay you out on your back

(writhe and squark as much as you like)

to lift the steaming fabric

and wipe you clean

even as I show her how to lift that lock

for the hundredth time

even as we sweep up the fangs of glass

and needle in your brother’s foot

to see if a shard got in there

even as I shout for you all

to come and eat this lucky food

I know

both hands are moving

north and south

I have put that bottle

on the counter;

I will drink its redness away.


But it is not so sweet as this.




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