by Parker Tettleton
this is alcoholism
at its best
i can’t wait to check
the mail
my stomach lumps
are real and
i wonder about colors
on the inside
if I could explain it
to you I would
guess that meant some
thing was between
us like gophers and greens
living down a hole
and looking back where we
sometimes thought
was nice but not always and
dreaming wanted to see
Showing posts with label Parker Tettleton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parker Tettleton. Show all posts
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
"Classic"
by Parker Tettleton
"I love you.”
“Night.”
Back at the screen door she answers “What?” I stand under her nose and say “Box is out of juice.” Inside she sits me on the black and white polka-dotted sofa we make love around here and there. “Sheets,” she wants to know. “Only in winter,” I say, “but not tonight.” The hall door closes. I take the two round burgundy pillows and stack them under my neck. Snow and sweat dry at my mustache. At two o’clock I trace my hands over pieces of furniture until I reach the kitchen sink. ’92’s running. She’s in the middle of the front seat. Faucet’s dripping. She could be asleep she’s so still. The handle lands halfway down the garbage disposal. One headlight blinks back at me. Classic.
"I love you.”
“Night.”
Back at the screen door she answers “What?” I stand under her nose and say “Box is out of juice.” Inside she sits me on the black and white polka-dotted sofa we make love around here and there. “Sheets,” she wants to know. “Only in winter,” I say, “but not tonight.” The hall door closes. I take the two round burgundy pillows and stack them under my neck. Snow and sweat dry at my mustache. At two o’clock I trace my hands over pieces of furniture until I reach the kitchen sink. ’92’s running. She’s in the middle of the front seat. Faucet’s dripping. She could be asleep she’s so still. The handle lands halfway down the garbage disposal. One headlight blinks back at me. Classic.
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