The sun wakes up.
My writing hand tic erases
once I pour reheated coffee
down my throat.
I pine around to
throwback songs
as I wait for the ratcheted
hour hand to strike lightning
at 7pm as my man waltzes
out of work around then.
My floss rounding mind dances around words
I can't piece together today,
perhaps better left stuck
in a vending machine as
someone's fist pummels it
for the 1.95 they lost
on overly salty chips.
But I find the words again
and piece them together,
clearing off the battery acid.
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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