Day 63 by Chris Schroeder
The big bang was so loud that it left the dog
whimpering
under
the bed-
no room for me to fit
too so there was nothing left to do but
scream back.
Throw a fit.
Bang the pots and the pans
loud
enough
to wake the neighbors.
Wake the neighbor’s dog.
Wake myself up.
Shake the dust.
Shake the rug out over the balcony-
It cannot be pulled out from under
feet
that don’t stay planted. I recant
every constant
that did not flow like the
nosebleeds
in the bathroom- disgusting
my middle school bullies while discussing
their magazine bedrooms
and the dark rooms
developing
the portraits of who we’d like
to turn into.
I said I’d like to be
the dirt
under the fingernails of the
boys I flirt with-
twisting my hair to feel
classic.
Dreading knots; dreading mornings
that did not involve
cartoons-
the ones that prove
this life does not end with the cliffs
we
fall
into.
————-
There is always room
on the couch
Sunday mornings
for you
and whatever cereal you like but
I prefer
the alphabet kind
so I can spell out one thousand ways
to say
thank you.
Another beauty from the Flagstaff Missed Connections poet. Wherever you are, thank you.
