Shit O’Clock

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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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