Wednesday, February 29, 2012


I often wonder if he

ever really appreciates

anything we do for him

as I skid along underground

inside the L train,

a silver rider of the subways,

these thrice-weekly jaunts are mainstays

in my day-to-day quest to

beat back the

mundane commiseration

of two unemployed hermits,

content to permit life fly

through a hot box haze

I am deployed to the

city for vegetable missions

now made slightly sour

by family fissures forced open

by the longing and fermented hoping

of a man who devours

as he deprecates other devourers,

left sour and steadily shorn

from those for whom his patience has worn.

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