we gather in the backyard, in a graveyard of glass where soft carrots poke
their withered tufts through the packed piles of thawing dirt and discarded
cigarette butts. a collection they keep. talk in circles around a deep dug hole about
who they've fucked and how bad they felt about it. may as well be picking lice from their
heads, these orphaned children with dicks like divining rods leading them to water.
they bend and stick their mouths to the ground suck suck suck but all that comes
is mud. mud and grime between teeth and gums. on this night the rain arrives finally finally
with thunder so loud it shakes the house shakes bones under skin. they open their mouths to wash
the grime from their lips but the drops catch ash on the air leave dirty streaks down acne scarred
cheeks and they are filthy still. scatter like cockroaches, burrow down under rocks, and laugh.
cheeks and they are filthy still. scatter like cockroaches, burrow down under rocks, and laugh.
with the motherless gone there’s only now me the woman you the man -
unfit caretakers both middle split and shameful in our own rights
there’s only now a room of smoke and warm whiskey in a stone cup passed
back and forth between us. we look out to the backyard, to the graveyard
of glass, to the collections they keep, and between
sips and sighs promise somehow to be
different.
