Sunday, December 29, 2019

In Public. By Alyssa Trivett


 In a Chatty Cathy in the world,
I retreat to headphone bliss
as words crisscross and battle
each other while I’m in the frozen aisle
forgetting to buy microwaveable bacon
or coffee ice cream.
My introverted sometimes extroverted self
retreats back to my tail
between my legs and
comic bubbles fly mostly when I’m
at the bar with him.
I went into detail last night
as I told my woes of how losing
my last grandparent on my mom’s side
and a part of me
sometimes feel like I’m still in
that condominium Wisconsin Dells pool,
walking with shallow legs and
I accidentally ran into the table after
I ate my PB&J.
Grief comes in at the oddest moments.
It sneaks up playing Heads Up 7 Up
and it will pick you even though you may
not want it to.
But we go on.
We grow on.
And the losses never seem to face me
at all, not now,
only once in a great blue moon,
face to face,
as a cashier you try to communicate with
but the cues just aren’t there so you
watch ‘em do the one handed trick
of throwing Cesar
dog pet foods in the bag and
bid them a good day.
And sincerely hope that they do
have that.
The morning is over and the day
begins to baseball bat swat
at whatever it brings.





Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.

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