Muddy. Face smeared.
Shoulders slumped sat down.
Didn’t see the blows heard the cries. Felt the wind.
Rolled over by the thunder. The hooves. Pressed down.
Lost breath held on closed eyes.
Not mine on the grass.
Face smeared. Muddy.
Rain sheets. Mud streams away.
Why do the squares all have to be empty. Do I fill them all in. Do I just pour and let the syrup fall where it wants. Should I make a pool on the plate and dip. Should I go for the Belgian or the regular. Is it going to be whipped cream or butter. Soft so it bends or crisp so it crunches. I’d like it one way, then I’d like it another, then I’d like it that way and then the first way instead…
Long day. Most of the day went bad. Not the way you thought it should. Made it home and things still aren’t smooth. Can’t shake it out of your shoulders. Your mind is too full. Put down the glass after that one sip. Fall down in the chair. Toss the remote because there’s nothing worth the time. Don’t even feel like looking at your phone. When you put this man on it sounds like he understands because just maybe he’s been there. But what you want to do is go with him wherever he’s going.