I just wrote this. Hope you have a good day. Love to you, C.A.
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Spread myself out on the table.
Tepid sheets, steamy sweats, the lucky
seven necklace on my collarbone.
Black snakes, platform sneakers,
a cutthroat game of horse.
Lost mail, street faith, trucker hats,
Eagle smokes, skinny fucks, hard
drums, a selection of rusty spoons.
Hand-hot, blue blankets, fake
sugar, loose T-shirts, the weather
radar, weird fish, Catawba Mountain,
extra-large, twisty soft serve. Kneeling
down, knee socks, boy shorts hanging
past the knee. Kill the three-pointer.
Every day, wrinkle cream. Make sure
to clean the yellow place for a party
of one. Birds carry messages on their wings.
Blinks, winks, grins, open-palmed waves,
thumbs-ups, handshakes, high fives, gang
gestures, sweeping, long-armed hugs,
tackles, fist pumps, chest bumps, but screw
the peace sign. Intention and silence
are divine. Each tree holds the dead
inside. Black licorice, dark chocolate, no meat,
but put the damn, vicious, adopted dog
down. If I listen, they speak to me. I’m sure
I’d like to walk today. Four miles, clockwise.
At all times, I’ll be carrying an umbrella,
and three reachable weapons,
just to be safe. I have fourteen old school
tattoos that need retouching. For my size,
I surprise everyone in the weight room.
I'm terrible with orders. I roll my eyes
at suggestions. Cuddling is for sissies.
My recycling is half-hearted at best. The Judge
made me weep. My eyelids are sinking,
and my neck is made of rocks. Come
Christmas, we all want a new family.
I haven’t been to a restaurant in ten years.
Light lives deep within some eyes,
and countless others choose leaden vision.
Someday, they’ll vanish, and the others
will be coming. Despite the labels, everyone’s
sick. The names Buddha and Jesus make me
cringe. Make sure to smooth out the face.
I’m sure I’d like to walk today.
C.A. MacConnell
