He hands me bottles
And swings paper plates over me
Into trash cans where they linger,
The rot filling our home
too few cares
and too many carcasses

overwhelm me with the stench, stale
like cigarette smoke and long kisses
with strangers beneath umbrellas, taste of lip
gloss and the shiny strand of spit
catching
your lips
to mine

his hands encase my body, move me from this
platform to another
and the train is cutting five a.m. skies into kaleidoscope of pieces
her heart is piece mail
crushed
and I pull it from the tracks, jigsaw on the ground
and press square pegs into round holes

force them together
as spring rain tumbles onto bubble filled imperfection
the glass of our adobe,
and he hands me the last bottle
and jingles the empty can
no more money
for beer

he whispers
an obscenity
and puts the cigarette out
In search of loose change