Words fail me
so I must bark.
That’s on a yellow post-it note
I found cleaning up my desk top.
Another says Hormone Impulse Control.
Another says
Just ’cause I’m pretty
doesn’t mean I’m not smart.
There’s nothing wrong with walking,
says another.
In a green folder
part of my inheritance
penciled in number two lead
a fragment:
when absence of a negative
becomes all you can hope for.
On the Sunday sports pages
headline: Dale Jr. wins a tribute to Dad.
Scribbled in blood-red ink across a racer’s smile
probably something stolen from a cop show:
I am an old child.
Let me tell you about experience.
You have the test
before you get the lesson.
Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed.
Oh, shit, yes. Yes, indeed.
