I find a shirt,
a tommy Bahamas shirt,
one last gift given
at some point during the last
hell storm
that passed through my life.
a birthday,
Christmas?
father's day, who knows.
who cares,
each holiday was ruined
anyway with
some hysterical, depressive
nightmarish scenario
conjured out of thin air.
I'm sure it was the same shirt
she gave to her husband
or her married boyfriend,
or her son. or father.
one size, one emotion
fits all.
I take the scissors to it,
cutting it in long ragged
strips. it burns better
that way
on the grill out back.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment