“OIL AND SOAP”

On a losing streak 

my Thursday smells like

rain collected in a teacup

the road rage orchestra 

of thirty-second street

honks its stubborn symphony

as I, before noon,

wave my white flag,

for today, there’ll be no fight

bare faced, strawberry

legged, coal filled, I wonder

is anyone else extremely warm? 

the world is grimy

some souls are petrol 

some souls are soap

later I walk among

the oily, unrecognized

and undiscovered

I wander through a maze

of empty eyes until it nearly 

knocks the air out of me

tonight the world is squalid,

I, a sticky fingered balloon, 

but somewhere there is soap 

so I flee the unctuous depths,

paint me lonesome yet pristine,

I don’t care

at home, in my fridge a

glass shelf has shattered

beneath cans left to freeze

I don’t know if I believe in signs

but I’ll take it as a sign, to get rid

of destruction, to wash out the oil

bare fingered I gather each

piece of glass and throw it out,

it doesn’t hurt

some souls are soap and 

lavender, fresh sheets, clear

water on soft untouched skin

oh my sweet ones, I am 

washing myself, so joyful 

in my loneliness, for I know

soon I’ll hold you and hear

centuries of archived poetry,

I’ll smell the peach trees,

we will be pure together.

M.L. February ‘25