Two Poems

Bad Day

I hate falling asleep
knowing that when I wake up
I have to hit the ground running
because soft skinned towheads got me lost
in dark brown sugar and John Carpenter’s
The Thing.
Severe morning sun didn’t rouse me
today and the first thing I think of is
Guy being kidnapped.
Doris Day, we can die alone together!
Hide our gullies of tears under
pancake makeup and in the curls of
well-groomed poodles!

It’s never good to start
the day hungry and forlorn without
time to clear your mind over coffee
or conversation.
My mother tried to please me with
the Wizard of Oz, but I focus more on,
Now, I have to carry this
to the library and to class and back home.
My guts twist like a snapping towel
leaking anxiety.
I sit in the bathroom and read
EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT
funny,
it looks like my handwriting.



I'm Looking For Something

The clockwork machinery that grinds on all sides between the walls of the great storeroom hums and lurches, causing small vibrations and giving off heat. Usually, short segments of song are played in obsessive repeat divided by dramatic readings of every kind, but now, the intercom is intimidatingly silent.
She’s on her knees arranging the smooth manila folders she has dropped on the old linoleum floor. Only two feet around her is kept illuminated at any time making far-flung folders impossibly missing-- some slipping under grey metal cabinets and wooden fruit crates organized by date & location or theme. The folders are filled with paperclipped portraits and sheets of information, but she is only looking for their names.
She never speaks or has anyone to speak to; the intercom alludes to what’s expected in her constant research and retrieval. There are no lunch breaks, only sleep in the department of People.