I knew a man
with eyes so blue
you'd think he was blind,
and he had done
so much heroine
that he couldn't flex
his arms out all the way.
He had four teeth,
one in each corner of the front.
His name was Charles
but he went by Tripp
because he was a III,
but he's really a trip.

She says I have a "damaged goods quality".
He kisses her right between her blue eyes
and says

"you are not damaged".

Before that they had martinis
and fancy French fries
and watched a sunset so beautiful
it would make a
grown man weep
and she had never felt so special.

There's a freckle next to his
left eyelid that she likes to kiss
every time he takes one of
her stitches out.
The scar is healing, and it gets
swollen from time to time,
but on this day she is grateful
that he is there to help her
when her heart gets
a little sore.

I want to ride a train.
I want to sit in a passenger seat
(do they even have those?)
but the driver can't talk to me.
I'd roll the window down
(can I do that on a train?)
and stick both arms out,
cautiously though,
I don't want to lose them
going into a tunnel.

I think I can,
maybe.

That's the problem
I can't put my big toe on.
There are no rooms for maybes
anymore.
Maybes stand tall,
challenging the train,
until the last second when
they chicken out and
stage dive down the hill
where her friends are
waiting for her
waiting to see if she
waited too long.
Chug-a-chug-a
chug-a-chug-a
choooo chooo.

He wrote me a letter
filled with puns

what a joke

and then he told me I
was not my grandparent's
favorite but
His Little Girl.

Sometimes I worry that
the only job my dad
will ever be able to
get is a buggy pusher
at Kroger.
I'm afraid he'll sit in
a recliner for a week
before anyone notices.
I know that's what
happens when people's
hearts are too full or empty
to stay in that recliner, though.
I can't be mad because
one day we'll all just
be sitting in our recliners
and then go.
I just hope I have someone
who looks for me
before I get juicy.

I
am
one
rejection
away
from
softball
tournaments
and
flannel.