Trudge through drifts of snow,
I manage to find home.
Space enough for a mouse.
Beer and mayonnaise in
small fridge, hand-me-down
rocking chair for furniture.
My breath, like a wanton spirit,
rises from my mouth, entwines
with the frigid air. Heat off.
I go to check the breaker: broken
for some time.
Pain swells in my stomach, coiled and venomous.
I check the bills in my wallet, tattered, old. Enough
for two more days: if I skip today,
two days of meals afterwards, then
my next check.
I surrender as my knees buckle.
Air becomes motionless, cold wraps around me, an old friend
comforting me. I sink to the floor, beaten. My back curves in
like a hag’s. On my knees, my head bows, no strength to stand,
and my body turns to gelatin.