We took a break to count numbers.
Her dog's head poked into our collective crotch and we thanked him
for being so generous.
The free gas keeps us going
so we peel through corn fields looking for sea glass,
but we mostly find used farm equipment.
You want to know why there are no more all-night eateries in the area
and I believe fast food
put them out of business. You like mom and pop joints
because you can imagine their children
flavoring the soups and waiting on tables while
people shift around them.
We move in and out of enormous tree trunk legs and we pronounce
our vowels very oddly, as if our jaws are broken.
I take a deep breath but I know there is nowhere to exhale.
You dig a tiny hole in your back
and pretend to be a whale.
I throw harpoons and tampons at your window.
We wrestle naked
in a baby pool. It's midnight and the convenience stores are closed
so we take turns dipping our toes
in and out of mailboxes.
apocryphaltext Vol. 3
Drew Kalbach lives in philadelphia. His work has appeared in Elimae,
Thieves Jargon and others. He has a chapbook called The Zen of
Chainsaws and Enormous Clippers forthcoming in October. He blogs at this-blog-is-a-piece-of-art.blogspot.com.
a poem by drew kalbach