You will come in less than an hour, and I
should be getting ready, hair, make up, well-groomed,
of gin to calm down the nerves,
but this sudden tickle stays
and my nails
needing an extra coat.
Coach say, go out, half-fainting, don’t save
yourself, you won’t die and I
am trying to apply
the same thing -- also what
ee cummings said, ha ha
don’t be afraid, despise
its wicked forms.
The traffic roars annoyance.
whats wrong with these cars?
these drivers who cannot drive?
who cannot keep
a single appointment?
it’s lurking beneath,
my contempt, my prejudice, against my knees
prodded up on the balcony. A hot bath,
on the brink of faith,
in the end
why do I care what no one thinks?
or anyone? Pour me a glass of gin!