There are some nights
when I love the taste of water,
but I reach for whiskey instead.
I'll lay somewhat less awake in bed
until the morning when I know
I'll swallow enough in the shower.

It's nothing insurmountable,
like the cleanliness of an infant being baptized.
The congregation stares straight-mouthed
until the next baby is washed
and it stares blankly into the crowd
and the parents are proud.

Standing
arms folded on the platform.

My tongue tastes like a long night
and my legs
stand on their own
and my lungs
feel like an oven.

I hold my tongue like my bladder
and the man with the cup
stands and shakes
and sings
on
the subway.

A crowded platform
means the train is coming.

The words felt uncomfortable in my throat
like the pen I was chewing on
before the airbag went off.