by Remi Recchia
Tree resting on the telephone wire like an overexerted watchman.
Cannot see through bathroom window.
Nothing to see through bathroom window.
No baby to comfort during storm.
No baby for a long time.
And God said to Rachel.
And God said to Mary.
He does not say to us.
We are not his chosen grief-birds.
We are just sad.
Lightning outside like a flashlight in my gray matter.
Is there anyone there.
The silicone of my prosthetic penis absorbing sweat and ruin.
Darkness setting up my shoes in the middle of the floor to play a cruel trick.
One kick and we’re out for good.
(Is it still eviction if the storm will save you?)
One kick not in your belly.
Dental hygiene still exists when it’s inconvenient.
Wife finds one hopelessly small tube of toothpaste.
I find one aggressively large Colgate toothbrush.
Neither of us vocalizes what we are about to do.
Power might come on back later.
Who knows who will be there to see it.