Written by Alissa Boubel
I wake up, I make some coffee
Cats drink from toilets, eyes reflecting in the midnight
Rabbits burrow in blankets and nip at heels
Tanned men paint houses blue, the heavy clunk clunk clunk of the roller on the side of the tray
Sand mites bite at my arms while I melt in the sun
I try to listen to lectures but people walk in and out of doors
The coffee is cold, I make some more
The stilts shake, the house sways
Cars are packed, someone is dying
We smoke, we wait outside, bringing the death with us on our procession to mourn
I wait in virtual lines to register
Somewhere our mother is crying
The coffee is gone, we make some more
We play the hundredth round of cards
How is the couch cover sewing going?
We conference call with stars, and we don’t learn much about what our future jobs could hold
Put clothes in the dryer, don’t want them to smell
For tomorrow’s coffee, we measure the grounds