For What it's Worth
For What it’s Worth
You see,
I think I kind of lost control
of my coronaries when your
coldly inconsolable wife called me
long past your bedtime,
Sunshine.
I didn’t know that my
chest’s cavity could
close in so quickly,
nor that I could be
held culprit for a commitment
that crumbled back when I
still thought that
boys had cooties.
I curse the milk
that boils on my cheekbones,
and the catch in my throat
when you call me
Hummingbird.
My Fifty cents.
Just take it.
