My mother made me sick.
Things I never
should have learned
at age twelve
about handguns
and abortions
And now I lay
half off the bed
cheek pressing hard
against cold plastic
trash can
trying hard to swallow
my nausea
sweating an awful lot
for being so dehydrated
And I keep thinking
this is what its like
to be turned inside out
for your approval
and if I could only find
a breathmint...
blood rushing in my ears
that's the sound of
childhood
passing idly by
in the left lane
of my soul
But no, no
that's the fever
in me talking
not the poet
for surely
I have something
more than a dry heave
to my credit
something more eloquent
than sickness

12/06/2002

Posted on 12/07/2002
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