April 8th and the day sounds lucky but
it’s not.
John Prine went home and we
received rotten cabbage in our rations.
We couldn’t save a single fruit.
We missed the pink moon
and we used all our string to sew
the wounds on our backs back together.
You’ve been keeping count
and I hadn’t thought about it
until just now-
when I slow down, when my one-liners run out,
what will you make of me?
April 8th sounds like a lucky day but
it’s
not.
When my roots turn to rot
will you send me home?
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