My cousin got herself knocked up again.
We buy a new fan to keep the fetus cool.
I hate the whir of the oscillator’s cycle;
it reminds me of my friend’s accident.
We live near palm trees and stray dogs.
There are chinch bugs on our couch—
no, bigger, more like fat grain flies.
Mutherfuckers always leave garbage out
in the alley back below our window
(defying signs in Greek, Polish, Malay).
This was in the weeks after Grandpa died
and the sunsets were brutishly beautiful,
kinda like your greasy face last winter.
Let’s share a bottle of whiskey tonight,
curl up like seashells on your slate floor.