A Landfill or Never-Ending Boat Ride
Into my asparagus, I cried a new vinegar
No one knows this salad
Only I make it
At the world’s smallest table
Like a lunch vault
There is no room for more
Failure is full
Violent Health
At work I plant hemlock trees in the swamp
My pencil rolls off the desk, lodges in the carpet and grows lead branches
Staples slip through cracks in the drawers
Then there are little metal lily pads
Pens develop spiny leaves and turn the water dark
I flick erasers off the sides of my desk so there are white magnolias
My shoe splashes under my chair
My elbow nudges a stack of post-its
They scatter into a hundred hot yellow paper ducks
Every day I take a canoe and the birds help me row
Furious
In the brown of Bakersfield farms
Where the desert is the freeway
Desperation took to its feet
Kicked the 5 to dust
The windows blistered
From the anxiety inside
Because unemployment doesn’t create anything else
On the highway, desperation grew into even more
It was discovered that shame has a physical form
And it’s furious
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