"garage" poems
death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-sucking:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a ***** speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
splashes
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
wondering
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime
22.4k
~ Ode to Spring ~
Cherry blossoms filled with bloom
rhododendron’s sweet perfume
warming winds feign summer’s breeze
songbirds singing from the trees
Open windows, déjà vu
sunsets filled with graceful hues
families gather on their strolls
Mother Nature for the soul
Baseball season at the park
evenings lifted from the dark
daylight savings' finally here
patios for wine and beer
Cleaning house and planting seeds
rebirth fills the days and deeds
picnic baskets, hummingbirds
poets find their way in words
Kaleidoscope of bedding plants
shorts in favour over pants
farmers markets, garage sales
power-wash the decks and rails
Hiking, tennis, gardening
inhale the freshness of the spring!
painters, sculptors shape their art
gather here with grateful hearts
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
and the light of the
empty parking
garage
casts shadows of
delirious days
before
me
thank God
there is light to
see the shadows
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
They say home is wherever you lay your head at night
That must be true
because my former house has a lock on the door now;
a lock to keep me out.
I never realized this is how it is to be homeless,
the endless wandering of a place to rest at night
the endless cycle of hunger and
thirst and
protection
I walk out of work with not a place to be in the world
and if I’m being honest it should frighten me.
I am a wanderer.
I have no sense of direction,
no moral pull,
nothing to lose and everything to gain.
I have this endless feeling of discomfort and
an airy breeze where the good in my heart and soul should be.
I am a girl, not a very beautiful or talented one.
I belong to anyone who belongs to everyone.
Home is where I rest my head for a night.
Home is a backseat
Home is a smoke filled room at 2 am
Home is a parking garage
Home is a strangers bedroom
Home is a feeling rather than a location,
but those who have a lock and key and
a mortgage fee will never understand.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
The shopping channel calls to me
It wakes me up at night
To sell me things I do not need
Nor would buy, if I was right
But apparently, there's something wrong
My brain should be re-wired
I only purchase things on here
When I am really over-tired
I have a room specifically
For things bought on TV
I've ginsu knives and shredding blades
And juicers!!!...ninety three!!
For some reason the kitchen things
Just seem to catch my eye
Especially at three a.m.
That's the time I need to buy
I've magic bullets by the score
Processors, I don't need
But, if I ever put them all to use...
An army I could feed
I've got socks for diabetics
Things to make your ******* stand out
I've got exercise machines galore
I've got three things that help gout!
My credit card's at the limit
I know the numbers off by heart
The post man knows me by my name
I even have my own **** cart
To deliver all my purchases
They just load it and deliver
It almost comes here by itself
It's enough to make one shiver
I don't know how it started
I think the countdown clock...ah, yes
I thought it meant the game was ending
I phoned in and bought a dress!!!
I've got jewellery by Joan Rivers
George Foreman grills...they fill my den
I've got perfumes for the women
And lots of things that make you men!
My wife cannot contain me
She's sent me off to get some aid
But, if they sell it on the telly
I'll buy it sure as getting laid
I've bedazzled all my clothing
I eat dried fruit and jerky too
I get Christmas cards from Ronco
I'm a shopping ****** through and through
Each month we have a garage sale
I sell off some of what I've bought
But, then I go and buy it back again
Without a second thought
My friends have all but left me
I rarely go out of the house
I just sit here and go shopping
I don't even see my spouse
Set it and Forget it
That's a phrase I love to say
But wait, there's more...is another one
That helps me through the day
I used the last one on my wife
One night while having ***
She told me "Set it and Forget It"
I'm off to dreamland Tex!!
My shopping's an addiction
One I hope to beat some day
But now, the operator says...
I have to get my card and pay!
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
do you recall
the crunch beneath our feet
a gesture small
as we ambled down the street
dirt and gravel
I felt pebbles through my shoe
I unravelled
When I looked at you
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Sunlight peaked through maple branches
in such a tranquil way
missed chances to make advances
I always hoped you'd stay
a fork in the road ahead
we went different directions
I used many different methods
to try and snag your attention
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
you never seemed to notice
you just stared ahead
heart bloomed as if a lotus
while I tugged at a loose thread
sometimes I'd begin to speak
but choked upon my words
so I walked next to you without a peep
and together watched the birds
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
it's odd and super subtle
the synchronicity
insignificant and pointless
yet means the world to me
quiet walks every afternoon
past the garage and dead leaves
we watched the starlings courtship
do you remember me?
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
My body spun
From one side of my garage
to the other.
In between the pillars of poles
creating space between the cars
parked in the two car garage
perfect family, right?
not even close
I unlaced my skates
tossing them in a case,
unorganized as my chaotic brain
I leaned down to pick up
a mess of what looked
like plastic
like a broken water container
crushed by the weight
of a basketball tossed without looking
being the good girl I was
I picked up the charred plastic
placing it in my hand to
throw it in the trash
I dropped it in the can
letting the pieces fall
one
by
one.
As I wiped my hands
I found a piece I had forgotten
it had the label of Prego on the side
I realized then
It was a broken spaghetti jar
I ran upstairs
to help with dinner.
I asked my mom
what I could do to
She said
"You can run that blood
under a cold water faucet"
I looked at her confused, saying
"Where am I bleeding?"
She turned my arm over
showing me the cut
glazed over my forearm
I hadn't even felt it
I didn't know
that was the moment
I would find an advantage
to not feeling pain
and an interest
in the impure
realization
that bleeding
wasn't scary...
that it couldn't hurt me
as much as the rest
of my life could.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
The brush is still in the garage
on the cold, cement floor
beside the empty tin of paint,
its sides eternally dripping
with a dried, buttercup hue.
The walls which we smothered with color
are faded, now riddled with children’s earthy hand-prints
after a day in the mud. A mess to us,
the results of battles, safaris,
and space travels to them.
I could paint over the marks,
start over fresh and show off to friends.
But I think I’ll let it be.
No longer the bright yellow of a sun trapped in a painting,
these four walls have still brightened many days.
There has been roaring laughter,
divided by a few screaming matches
that have made the dog whimper.
This room has seen much of our lives,
and life cannot be painted over so easily.
So it stays. The color will always be buttercup to me.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
I went to the garage to throw up and came out with a glass of water and a box to store my waste
I wish I had thrown up everything all that was me
But nothing came up but a wee little bit
Our adventure set off and to the shed we went only to be disappointed by the crude lawn mower
Once more the travels we set off on to the couch it is
Where he shows me a trick to alleviate my nauseous head
My legs spread for him and I cannot control the yes daddy slipping from my ***** ****** lips at the time
21 and **** with the tats he was everything I wanted and so the game began where his **** ****** my god **** tight *****
Age is just a number I'm 17 god **** it a responsible one at that with a job and friends and good grades and a future and here I am wishing I was good enough for this man
But I was
And he was cute and funny and sweet and
Gone
And this 17 year old sits waiting wondering what the **** do I do when I want but do not need and what the **** do I do when he may not want me
But baby I'm a jumper and the fall is scary but
Am I strong enough to crawl out of that hole again?
Am o stupid enough to chance it?
Will this even effect me as much as I'm playing into it?
I may not even like him when it comes down to it
But ****
I want to **** again
And I want to be loved
But these are indeed not the same thing my first time guy
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
he interrupted me
in the middle of
an earth shatteringly
pointless story
to tell me i had
a cute laugh,
in a smoke-filled
garage infront of
all of our friends.
i said,
*"alright dude
**** off"*
that night
i slept in the fetal
position with four blankets
and craved his skin so
bad i didn't even notice
that i bit my lip
until the pool of blood
collecting inside the deep ditch
of my gums, began to taste
of hot metal
today he texted me
while i was at work
and asked if he could
bring me a coffee
i looked at myself
in the bathroom mirror,
sighed and told him
we were busy
then i bought a
coffee for myself,
let the bitter sweet
warm liquid
linger on my tongue
and pretended
it was his lips
alone is a state of being
and i have never been alone,
lonely is a state of mind
and i have never been anything but
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.
Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.
Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.
He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.
Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.
8.4k
Freezing a glance
Wind cuffs down-white heliums
Sweeps contrails
Separates cirrus across the moon
Cresting wave tormented
wind against steel
movement in movement
sprays of hair
Blizzard of petals from the apple
Furious snow
drifts off— garage roof
Fog that haunts the river on the coldest nights
_____________
The walk across the alley
took—
so long—
A lifetime from the doorway
of someone else’s impatience
Prints of motion
record the loss
a single set in snow
But there!
on the icy, shoveled surface of night
lies the snowflake of a bird
impossibly molted
Song of a feather
caught—
Flailing! Helpless!
More than lovely for its lying there!
Lying there!
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
Teetering on her baby legs
A newborn with a Solo cup
bombastic red with a few
undulating ribs
Held firmly in her hand
Is this her first or her third?
Somnambulant yet eager
And just a little out of place
In a foreign territory
On newly contested lands
She stumbles through a raucous crowd
Or was it just white noise?
She’s lost her companions
Somewhere
Although they could very well be close at hand
In the distance she can make out
Laughing faces
Bodies moving to and fro
Spilling forward, little messes
Throwing back cheap libation
She passes through a room and out the door
Into the out-of-doors
Someone following her unbeknownst
Watching her cautious, curious steps
And when she turns and sees the blur standing
She greets it
“Hail Fellow!”
Bouncing from variable to variable
Frequency to frequency
Confident and in command
Of a seemingly controlled chaos
He approaches smiling and holds out his hand
Anonymous
Having drawn her attention from the stars
That she could not find above
Leaning against the garage’s eastern wall
She takes it awkwardly
Tentative she smiles back reassured
Wobbling she returns standing alongside him
Or was she in front?
Purposeful and en route
Emboldened by his presence
And how the way was parted before her
Just by his being there.
By being so close.
She felt vaguely special
it showed in her half-smile
Cloaked in bangs
She held her head just a little bit higher
The co-conspiratorial glances
Met by boys eyes
And shes
Went unseen by the girl with the
Solo cup
One of tens upon tens upon tens
A coven would have known
It’s better not to
However.
She was shown a seat to rest
And her cup refilled
She takes a sip and smiles again
She takes another and then a gulp
That spills
He takes the cup away
And places it on the low table
Suggests she go to the restroom upstairs and get herself
Sorted
Embarrassed she is relieved for direction
Someone knows what’s going on
And his caring
Taking the time
His kind eyes
She’s usually alone
She waddles up the stairs to find
a toilet and a mirror
God she thinks
I look a mess
She tries to fix it
The hair
The eyes
The lips
The dress
The stomach
The *******
The thighs
She shrugs her shoulders at her reflection
Exhales and steps out again
To find him standing there
waiting for more.
She wants another cup.
She’s missing her cup.
I’ll get you the cup he says
In just a second.
Come.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Bang!
I heard a firework go off.
I don't see any lights.
Oh, I think that was a garage door falling shut.
Or maybe someone slamming a door.
I don't want to think about what it might have actually been.
It's not like summer has come and gone months ago.
It's not like nobody has garages around here.
It's not like people slam doors loud enough for it to echo around the inside of my school.
It's not like I'm scared for me and my friends every time I enter the building.
It's not like that, I swear.
Everyone is scared.
Everyone is lashing out.
Everyone is on their toes.
Everyone is trying to become home-schooled.
We want to leave.
Not for boredom,
not for the next best thing.
But for safety,
for home.
Who's coming in the door next?
Who's going to stop them?
Who's going to survive?
Who is going to die?
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
I apologize to the girl I pushed down accidentally when we were playing tag.
It wasn't my intention to make you fall.
I apologize to the girl who asked me out in high school who I left without saying a word.
It wasn't my intention to lead you on.
I apologize to the guy who always hated me in middle school.
I must have done something wrong for which I cannot remember.
I apologize to my mother for being born.
It's obvious after your first you never wanted a second.
And if you did, you never acted that way.
I apologize to my friend's parents for everytime I walked downstairs and caused the dog to bark.
In the middle of the night when I had stomach pain and needed a warm rag or some pills from the bathroom.
Whenever I went to get something out of the fridge to heat up or go outside to get to work.
Whatever the reason I felt like a burden to the point where I would often go without food and just keep the silence.
Sometimes I would leave the house and get back hours later so the tension wouldn't be there.
I apologize to the kid in middle school who always had other kids saying nasty things about you behind your back.
I never tried to help in anyway possible.
I didn't know how or what to say.
I apologize to all my relatives who have passed away who I couldn't even shed a tear for.
I apologize to many of my friends who I haven't spoken to in years.
I have a hard time speaking my mind.
Thinking that everything I could say would just be a waste of time.
I apologize to all the plants I forgot to water.
I shouldn't have tried to take care of anything when I have a hard time taking care of myself.
I apologize to the pine tree.
That grew from an acorn I planted in a planter box that grew to be three times taller than me.
And you inevitable had to be cut down because your roots broke the planter and made a crack in the garage door.
That was my fault not yours.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 4:27 AM UTC
Every morning I would hear the metal wheels grind against the rails as the garage door opened
Leave for school as you were under the hood staring at horse power repairing every engine that was broken
Returned home and now you’re underneath a different car, your face blackened from the dirt, oil and debris
And at night sometimes I’d hold the flashlight for you, pointing the light at the wrong spots of the engine, I’d help to some degree
Rarely spoke but wrenches clanked, ratchets ticked, screws and bolts rattled and power tools revved
It’s the language that I never understood but it’s the language I know you’ve said
The garage doors would close, I’d smell the scent of Mary Jane coming from your room, swear the odor was limitless
Then I would hear the rifts and solos from the guitar strings that were plucked by your fingertips
Life as a grease monkey and a rockstar but you loved every second of it, you love everything you do
I wish one day I could find my own love and become something just like you
I see why my mother loves you
You called me your son though we’re not blood I swear I miss you in every way
You’ve alwayz told me to look out for my sister and to protect her everyday
Happy birthday
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
6.2k
All the words he never said
Were written in the stars
Look at me,
They seemed to say.
I'm still here
Let me guide you through the night
All the nights we used to spend
Outside the garage.
His favorite constellations embedded in my mind.
Orion the Hunter.
It would never get old.
I was an image of my father,
And together we could stare at the stars all night long.
So people always ask me
Why I am fascinated with the stars
Why at nights I look up at the sky and smile
And I tell them,
He used to admire the stars as I do,
But now,
He is up there.
He is guiding me throughout this life.
My dad is my favorite constellation.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
Lyrics in her face
blaze, from screen to mouth
bony thumb, scrolling
mumbling into an ancient microphone
hanging from the rope swing
in her garage.
Voice shakes here, shivers there
but ****
she is soulful.
Authentic, exquisite
in holey socks and wet hair
and goosebumped arms
getting swallowed by a hoodie.
******* she has it all
and gives it nothing.
Some of us are simply stunning
no spray tans or updos
no sequined skirts or stiletto shoes
no autotune or makeup kits
no words-
only nothing
could improve her.
Nothing could improve her.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.
so cool.
demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage
sleepover
sleepless
starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.
pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity
rotten thing.
you ain't the boss of me
paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap
heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.
oh how special.
yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.
these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.
drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
like red lion parts
crotch rocket
nut cup
anything done behind
a dumpster in the dark
yes, always
because you never liked how
light peeked through my thin
hair
or how I squinted
my eyes when I kissed you
“Just close them all the way
*********
of course, I obliged
anything to keep you
away from your mother
anything to keep you
out of the garage
the sulfur smell
the demons in your
drinking marble
but god,
the vibration
the car peeling out
on the driveway and
“Here take this.”
all of me reminded you
of her
all of me
“Rest, darling. Rest.”
and every time the night
ended with unclothed gin
bedspreads like
forts and painted
walls
“Go **** youself.”
and all was lost
my body
my grief
10 pounds lighter
sweat soaked through
the carpet
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
Small, blonde, blue eyed girl kindergarten age, but not yet six
Brown haired eleven year old boy going through puberty
She trusted and was innocent
He betrayed and committed a grave sin
The upstairs bedroom with the twin beds
A bed with smooth sheets and curtains closed
A single light bulb burning bright in the ceiling
Outside behind the garage with car parts and a burn barrel
Memories a five year old shouldn’t have
Actions an eleven year old shouldn’t take
She didn’t know it was wrong
He coaxed her to keep it a secret
Innocence forgotten, walls erected
Shame she felt as time went on
Terrified to place blame
Years passing, it all stopping
Sadness knowing what transpired, never telling
Afraid of accusations of lying
An uncle a young girl should love and trust
Instead she learns to loathe
Discovering she was not at fault
No longer will she be ashamed
Confrontation is a step towards a demon destroyed
Soul soothing, enabling the skeletons to be released
His denial is his shackles of shame
Innocence lost never to be recovered
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Spiders.
Snakes.
Late nights, due to the fact that once I saw a possum in our garage when it was dark out.
Good looking people not thinking I'm good looking.
Holding children. I might drop them.
My brothers growing up to be just like me.
Shark attacks.
Jumping off high places.
Headphones that go too deep into my ears.
Going the opposite direction of so many cars. I'm the only one going my way. They're probably headed the right way. They're probably having more fun.
Realizing that, after being on the road for a while, my high beams have been on the whole time. Sorry.
Cockroaches.
Family reunions where I'm not sure if that really attractive girl is my family or someone's friend.
Climbing up the stairs of the Bombay ride at Wet N' Wild because there just slabs of stone I can see under. I could slip and fall right through.
Enjoying bad bands.
Letting my girlfriend look into my eyes.
Talking on the phone.
Growing up.
Refusing to grow up.
Reading this over if I ever finish it and realizing that I am something less than a regular human being. Probably an animal of some kind.
Frogs.
Big animals.
Waking up one day as the same person I always have been.
Standing still.
My parents.
Not spending the rest of my life with the girl I swore I would.
Texting people too often.
My parents dying.
Whales.
My teeth being this awful the rest of my life.
Braces.
Making people think they offended me. People never offend me.
Writing anything that's ever as good as Ernest Hemingway. How dare I think that I ever could.
Running too hard. My heart might burst.
Being unreasonable. Am I unreasonable?
Sticking my finger inside an air conditioning vent in a car. I don't know if there's a fan in there. I don't know if it'll take my finger off.
Getting people's hopes up.
Letting people down.
Fish.
Bees.
Being a teacher.
My laugh.
Wearing bad clothes.
Holding her hand too hard. I might cut off circulation. She might get mad.
My brother disapproving of what I do.
Heaven because it sounds awful doing the same thing for the rest of forever.
Finding out I've been gay this whole time.
Cracking my fingers.
Being a parent.
Whales.
Final exams.
Paranormal Activity 4.
Singing on cue.
Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Eating insects.
Whales.
Silence.
The open ocean.
Whales.
Whales.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC