sometimes,
i like to pour bbq sauce
all over my wife’s purse,
because it’s impossible to get the smell out of
the bag, but whenever she does errands
with me, i can’t help but think
of ribs and tofu
i can’t afford battery acid,
though i hardly think that’s much of a concern,
right? or perhaps i’m not making as big
of a deal as i need to be,
should probably come up with an action plan and,
well, take action
dixie cup full of plasma distilled down
to basic components that lack any more surprise,
and tossed aside for the comforts of speaking
german on a latin wednesday while curling up
in the arm’s of a stranger because that’s what
that one song by that one singer
said to do, too
Fred Aiken Writing 