Nothing’s happened, there are no examples.
At most I feel an exceptionally light bug
has been bothering me.
Its dead on the maternity ward
and I’ve never even seen bougainvillea
so this gathering rag is a bust.
There’s a rustle of forms.
Aline comes in at midnight
and gives me a penny for my thoughts.
She’s like a mid-Atlantic Coke machine
that’s out of order. Bob comes in at six
and tells me about the weekend.
He screwed behind sandbags, lurched
down the beach, blacked out
but didn’t drown.
I crawl straight back to the depths of
my mother’s drawer, sunk among the lingerie.