Two layers. It’s warm.
I’ll pretend nothing glorious is going on.
Armful of the biggest load, back near gone.
Should I purchase the boots? I ask Sean.
Sucking on the remaining pretzel
out of my teeth—-
squeak the stairwell door,
the cold body quiet again
finding a shirt among the sheets.
Phone startled my big ol’ throat, which is sore
from smoking & the weather
made it that much more.
I am doing what I do best; wait.
for the sun to rise
for the phone to ring
for the sheets to dry
for the omnipresent visitor
for those wunnerful boots of leather.
