Unemployment Catherine Meng

I’m putting a dent in Friday & chasing it home.
I’m armed with nothing but interpretations
of snow written in the last century.
I’ve sucked hard on the pillow
until the pillow itself sucks. I’m old now.
Sculling for parking spaces I don’t have to pay for.
I’m looking at the refrigerator as if it’s a man.
I’m weaving through prickly feelings I find on my skin.
I’m changing to caps locks in my dealings with neighbors.
I’m growing fast as a string bean
against twine I can’t stop crawling.
I’m fascinated by a yellow car that hasn’t moved in 3 days.
I’m worried about the future of my feet.
I’m worried about my ribs & teeth.
I think if it keeps going like this
I’ll be smelling showers for a living.
I’ll be broke into small pieces as a boat is.
I’ll be rinsing in the big light of the sun.
I’m ready to say I’m waiting
for reason to appear dressed in black.
I’m going to sing out of my usual octave
& make gestures with my hands that scare the geese
so they double back.
I’m degreed in turpitude & there’s a bee in my skirt.
I’m free to wander eruptions where puddles
were drove through. I’m cooking on borrowed gas.