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Flooded

 

Even in the downpour, cotton candy cars don’t melt.

I wish they did. The view is bad from here, third floor,

but the only other option is cheek smushed to carpet,

wet-dog and day-old fucking smearing my rosy reds.

 

It’s day in the parking lot — that woman who isn’t your wife

walks fast, head down. Her umbrella flaps, flightless and furious.

I would shut it for her, in the rain, for a kiss.

You tasted, once, of donuts and carnival rides.

 

You brought me here. Or I came in, pink and formless, stuck

to the bottom of your hundred-dollar soul.

All my night windows are stuck open, painted over,

scarred with skies full of cigarette-burn bears.

 

Rain can pierce like an arrow if you stand quiet

beneath its fall. The third floor is not high enough.

I am shut in the rain. You are parking the car.

All the open windows are night.

***

NOTES: I’m writing my poems at the coffee shop — I do almost all of my writing there, to be honest — and realized there were no poetry books at hand. Thus, I pulled the titles from the first three poem responses today to include instead. Namely: “Shut in the Rain” “Day at the Park” “All the night windows open.” Hard? Yeah, more than a little.

Read today’s prompt by Robin Sampson (as well as the inspiration beyond poem-a-day) over at Not Without Poetry. My goal is to write a poem each day in less than 20 minutes, and without additional revision beyond the writing experience.

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