I’m sleeping on the
couch again. I write ’til late,
then collapse in place.
Immobile
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I’m sleeping on the
couch again. I write ’til late,
then collapse in place.
I don’t know whether
to vote for him or put him
on and go play ball.
How can one person
be so excited about
an extra hour’s sleep?
That candy still sits
there. What would Fat Bastard say?
“Get in my belly!”
When I eat crazy
trans fat, hot wings, donuts, all
sucked into the void.
My husband’s pride is
African violets, purple
faces genuflect.
I answer the door.
Offer kids cooked broccoli
They demand candy.
My daughter channel
surfs, feeding her ‘Scrubs’ habit.
I’m no Superman.
We have never met.
And yet, reading this, you know
who I really am.
This is the dance in
side my head. No two left feet.
Only thoughts, spinning.