#contort
He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.
Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.
It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.
Somehow, his presence and
absence
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
Unpredictable.
Vacuum-like.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?
What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 9:36 AM UTC
That tail doesn't taste as good as it looks
running in circles to see what's ahead
Breaking backs contorting to accommodate
what is too big for one man to contain
A trail of kibble leads a line of zombies
lost to the truth you pretend to be
16 personalities for 16 needs
and the line grows to criminal proportions
following the hope of a smile
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC