Loading the Truck
Sweat glistening on my forehead
like some family heirloom
I've always thought worth more
than it truly is, while the rain
drops pelt me, as if spit
from a broken hearted lover,
who refuses to accept grey clouds
never last, and my hands weaken
just enough to give me the strength
to finish a chore done
because of love.
A Thriving Virus
Death shaped flowers
bought with a credit card
that needed a sad phone call
a few hours earlier
to increase the card's limit,
and they say living isn't cheap,
but I've learned that dying isn't
either, especially as a case of beer
jingled a dirge in our backseat,
or was it a hymn to St. Matthew?
Regardless, the interest grew
like a thriving virus,
smart enough to only spread
sickness, and not to kill.
The Folly of Being Quenched
Whisky yellow like the sun,
while water bottles are full
as coffins on a grey day,
when guilt louder
than a fierce rain,
and we all know water
is needed for life,
yet underestimate thirst
(literal or otherwise),
grabbing us by the throat
just rough enough to make us
forget whatever we did wrong.
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