when the bugs come in
Hitting up my ceiling
Buzzing round my memories.
Dishes don't get done
all by themselves
Shout the jugs sugared up
on the shifting shelves.
It's late at night
And this world reappoints the hue.
The toaster fizzles in the fuzz
of the freshly fizzing shower.
And no one cares,
they're all parading circular saws
in their underwear.
I could take a train
To somewhere we've never seen
Except on the moon
Maybe Shipshewana.
No comments:
Post a Comment