Her eyes held
the same contempt.
Their reflections
mired in the puddle,
her pollen filled words
landing on his back,
and he brushed them off
like a discarded book
jacket.
No amount
of tugging
them around herself
could warm her
as he crushed
a wet cigarette
beneath his boot,
and she felt
her insides
discolor the rain.
PAD Day 3 Message Poem
Collected pain drips
from an assortment
of wobbly elbows
until this night’s convergence
of long island tea
and bloody marys
leaves their imprints
far too messed up
for any psychic to read
before the barkeep
wipes the stench away
gathering bits of their souls
into a yellowed sheet
now filled with their piss
and vinegar.
The world outside
where children giggled
and mothers shushed
was never kind
so her music
rarely left her porch.
Yet I longed to enter
her lavender house
through ribbons
that fluttered
instead of curtains
where I could see
her dance in purple
eating lilac cookies
with calming tea.
And we
could be the change
inside.