Wet Noodle
We’re playing at wet noodle
my dog and I
because no one is watching.
She threw up
I limped home after physical therapy
We can be nauseous and upset
all we want
together as overcooked pasta
her body glued onto mine in this chair.
This is a good reality
much better than pretending we’re fine
someplace else
forced to
accommodate secret blows
covert bashings.
No holding up a false picture of bliss
around here.
Categories: Poetry