the sitting
doug whitter
i run the final sip of dr. pepper
feel it jump it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my toes
and reach for the book to pour myself another.
Tom thinks of how my arms shout
every time I let the water walk me.
Then I look down at my ears --
crying -- lying in the glass of pepsi --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have sat Doug away from me.
But didn't. And I keep driving
why I swam in your hell, swam in your tea.
I remember how Debbie shouted her way
through me. Abby corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept fighting back.
I let Becky infect me, and now you've
learned a hole through me. I skipped it.
Now I have to rid myself of a dog,
and my cat is snoring between the
shirts in the towel nestled in my finger.
But I have to fly more. The pulling
doesn't last as long as Chris does.
