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my dear god, we are all so small
you never can anticipate:
brawny men becoming cripples,
humanitarians turning into jerks,
a simple dinner missing the colander
and ending up down the disposal
It’s someone’s damn fault
there are events as real as these
measured without a yardstick:
like a cat stuck in a tree,
a gravy stain on a white table cloth,
or a house washed away by a flood,
but, the disease growing inside
your friend’s body,
was not known
until she puked,
the sickness found, too late, untreatable.
She’s now down in the ground,
with “so…much…life,”
fuck
you pour
angel hair into the sink…
it happens that quickly
Return to Volume 3.2
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