we’ve an heirloom to sleep on. it wobbles
whether we sleep or not. unable to breathe,
i left my lover for a sudafed in the wal-mart
super-center. once inside, i was swingin’
near the big red bird-feeders with a
little red sudafed, dry as an
oklahoma interstate.
i have to show my license to the
pharmacist ’cuz people sometimes make
drugs with it. blesséd druggist. back in
the bedroom: an impressive old woven rug
with a burnished headboard. out the
bedroom window: a blesséd warbler.
she bleeped herself and wobbled like a
robin.
big red sudafed of the warbling
druggist. now we’ve got a bloomin’
air. an air for sneezin’. an air
for lovin’. a hard red air.
a wild red hair.
