Salty This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

December 15, 2011
Maybe I would have been something you'd be good at.

The black man on the bus carries his life in
plastic Walgreens bags,
old leather hands and
no front teeth,
sometimes I think it would make things nice and
simple
to have nothing.

There are secrets
hidden between the cracks in the
sidewalk;
secrets of ants and
dust and
ABC gum,
secrets of pennies that lie face down
that no one will touch because
they have no luck
at all.

You found a heart-shaped freckle on my nose,
one I had ever noticed and
I blushed, even though you are the wrong
one.

When I was little,
my mother taught me
to pull old hair out of the brush
and toss it out the window for the birds
to make their nests is spring,
she said it would keep them warm.

I spend a lot of time moving the glassware around
on the top shelf,
trying to make it all
fit,
I could have sworn they used to sit side by side
with ease.

There is salt everywhere;
salt stains on my boots
on my jeans,
salt in my hair from
seawater tears.
I used to eat sidewalk salt when no one was
looking.

Don't ever say 'I love you'
unless you have a cleared path to
run,
otherwise you could trip over things and get
hurt.

Like TV's.

Don't cut your fingers off just to
fit your gloves,
they will be out of style next month
anyways.

Maybe you would have been something I'd be good at.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback