Rx straddles the ledge

of the countertop

His hand shakes as he reaches

Rx drops

He screams

as the glass splinters

all over the floor

and into his foot

the droplets of life

now mingled in with the dirt

from inside and out

holes punched in the wall

of the kitchen

where he can no longer feed

without those tiny droplets.

What good is the dirt?

 

 
For a life that is so fragile

soft and precarious

so dependent on these molecules

and conversations

and circumstances,

it sure as heck

feels weathered

and hard.

 

 

No Rules Poetry