cul-de-sac (poem)

really, I just want to wear the same slippers forever

and never have to re-pot plants or buy new pants

because I can never decide whether to be comfortable or racy

it would be a horrible death if I was discovered in comfortable pants

and bras too, when you’re boobless

are a depressing thing

because the wires just dig in

or you have these egg cups up front

which sort of stand there filled with boobless air

on your flat and sunken chest

but nipples poking through vests

distract electricians

and my sisters too

would disapprove

because they are always so properly dressed

and today I learned that three men died in space

some time ago

but they were Russian

which automatically makes it interesting

and I sit here looking at the tree out of the window

it isn’t the tree I climbed as a child

but it has that possibility

because it’s a tree

so I’m looking at the tree

thinking about the Russian men in space

swirling about amongst the stars

and wondering if I will die in this place

in thin slippers and fraying pants

surrounded by dust and soil and pot plants