Where’s the word I got from his
very offensive email? I found it
in the sanctuary of right answers.
Like heaven, lighting equipment
is not a roman numeral. But I am
a super-sleuth.
He shares this with me
like breaking legs, breathing on all fours.
I want to unbutton but step back instead.
The announcer steps back. Am I this
out of touch?
True stories are like not owning up to
who we are. There is no such thing as
a light touch. We are barreling down
the hill, stepping on hot dogs
and tamales. And later, we
vacuum and tuck each other
deep within.
