tuna

Standard

i cut sliced and diced my thumb on
a soup can about five minutes after
realizing that my wallet was vacationing
in upstate new york

rich red blood paraded around kitchen
into my tuna white trash noodles and
i screamed obscenities i never knew i knew
how amazing, in an instant a world so small
can seem so large as it comes whirling
down dancing into the bathroom
still screaming and my life seems
ridiculous and impossible as i hold my
tattered weak little thumb under cold water
made weak, diluted
as i pine for the wallet that left me and for
the love that chose not me and for the spattered
tuna on the stove and the movie i’ll never make and
the world i’ll never save and for the life i can’t afford to live
and for the inhumanity of it all
in my tiny swirling world caught in a
sink of pink dilution

how quickly it all stops spinning
and the tears dry and the sniffling
stops whimpering when a friend calls
to say he’s on his way to bring me
some money to last till my wallet
decides it’s time to come home
and that a cup of coffee is in order
and that yes, it does all suck right now,
but he’s on his way so it’s okay
and i remember that i’m hungry
and my apartment is still mine
and love’s choices are not
to question sometimes

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