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poem where I pretend ears are shutters

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shutters blow open and closed.
the wind outside is so strong
so why don’t your ears blow closed
The air is tomato soup you know
Don’t jump in that puddle, this is a new coat.
She throws the screen away.
She leaves it in the street.
She says she likes all of the air
not just the juice of it.
Her dress is see-through.
I don’t tell her though,
we have no shutters to cover her with anyways.
His ears are much too big for his head.
Maybe he doesn’t like air leaking in.
Maybe only when he feels warm and stuffy, he’ll let the air in
just enough to cool the sticky fluid on his brain.
His thoughts are overheated and tight.
You can take the screens.
They’re on 5th street.
You can trade the woman who sings “good morning”
for them.

I just want our shutters back




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