Thursday, November 17, 2011


Egg Balm

That short poem is so 1950s.   I like the way
you made it so southern.   And so subtly.

Tonight I’m going to make like I remember
the last decade.   “These are things I should be

doing for number one,” you say.   Let’s do the
untwist instead.   Relationship update: all is

check; easier to tell; chopped off; and the
best.   There are two bottles of lubrication

in the closet.   Like when you find out your
dialect is more obscure than others.   I

hear you crunch Doritos in the bedroom.
I check out the window for the day.   It’s

in the mail like the little egg full of lip
balm I ordered.   I’m lying in our little al-

cove in our blue bedroom with clouds.   Ron
Howard is definitely no Clint Eastwood.