by Matt O’Toole
Older gums speed like marbles,
Big hips sit at, playing machines,
Their clips they drip over full bodies,
Like sullen wool.
The hanging birds hang near quiet windows-
On sleeping, weekday mornings.
Super shark and daddy gum swim away to,
Linger in glass bottles-
They barley crow into their tired empty jar’s.
Then at midnight and midday, the midwife-
Working on the shipping docks of dark red curtains, Stop-
Her delicate box, though-
Still holding cotton bags of,
White whispered words.
Words sang crumpled in doorways-
Sang on rocked limbs like soft pipes.
I don’t crawl into the night, and don’t,
Carry my heart in a bucket like a beast.
I carefully step my filthy posture,
And avoid the turning leech.