[M] Whirda's Poetry & Prose

[PepsiWhirda]

Monsters

It’s getting close to dark,
and the bruises on my face
too-closely match those
of the sky.

There are promiscuous
woolly wrinkles where
my cheeks ought to be,
and the rain falls
fat and heavy like my
heart.

The police came and went.
They wanted to put
a raw steak on my
wounds, but I laughed them
all the way back
to the station,
then phoned to tell them
it’s bad decisions
that got me here.

I’ve had my fill
of bad decisions.

The ambulance
has been disemboweled.
Its remains are the stains
on my teeth.

I try to tell you
how much I’ve missed you,
but this isn’t the place
for poetry,
and my voice is lost
beneath the weight
of the world
and the screams
of the interstate.

I feel like a kid
trying to explain where
the monsters came from.