I 'm down to apples and carrots, healthy
by default. It hailed yesterday, hailstones
half the size of your fist left dents on the car
that quit running last Tuesday. The kitchen
window was open, it killed the cactus, too.
I've got one bottle of cheap beer, a cup of milk,
and, oh yes, one stale chocolate kiss. Don't
sweat it, I won't hit on you. I'd sooner try
squeezing coins from a rock. It was no
accident, don't even try to tell me that. So
I'm flat. I've been here before, stone-broke.
It could be worse. I could be with you again,
instead of alone, down to carrots, bitter apples.
POEMS
A - B
C - D
E - F
G - H
I - J
K - L
M - N
O - R
S
W - Z
MORE OF SB's POEMS
@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook
- Disclaimer
Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.
In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.
It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.
A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.
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