Latex gloves. Cotton
swabs. Antiseptic. What would
MacGyver create?
The doctor will be with you shortly
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Latex gloves. Cotton
swabs. Antiseptic. What would
MacGyver create?
Perched on the exam
table like a rib roast on
white butcher paper.
A mouse burrowing
deep, it peers out but can’t be
caught with eyes open.
Invested with deep
meaning, treasures buried by
trash. Dust, dirt their shroud.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.