July 2009

It fell face-up on the hardwood,

a glossy slip of skin and bad timing.

I was making room for the IRS,

shuffling the papers of a person who pays bills,

and there I was, twenty-one and vibrating.

The fluorescent light caught the beads

on my upper lip like a row of glass teeth.

I look like I am about to apologize

for being in the room.

I look like a damp basement.