our bodies are a haven from August.
this summer all we do is rut
mattress on the carpet
him on me
a miasma of scorching discontent.
dingy sheets. the
dryer eats them and my future
gets stuck in the holes.
how did I know he wanted that baby?
at the window,
he smokes Marlboros, taps ashes
on the losers below.
there’s not enough air to go around.
I found a corpse in the kitchen, I tell him.
he flicks his dead daddy’s Zippo
again and again,
surveys the neon-tinged city.
I want to steal something important.
I reach for his pride on the window ledge.
he flicks me away like a gnat.
the tv’s been broken since May.
Finalist, Wherewithal’s Year One Anthology, 2014