Time, memory, half-eaten through,
with American flags,
butterflies when you’re twelve
A cockroach crawling across your face, waking you up
between 2 and 4 am
Hearing the roach a week later–sounds bigger.
That won’t work.
Hopes pinned to lottery tickets like a
scrapbook of the future.
Neither will that.
“There should be a sign on the border of sev-
eral cities that says, ‘This
one doesn’t work either.'”
Cleaned the whole house while crying,
mixed and switched