Saturday, April 18, 2020

Saturday. By Alyssa Trivett

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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