And He Called Himself G

She had seen the slow drip of smile

That didn’t quite match his face.

There was just too much something

In the nothing she saw in his eyes.

And she didn’t know why,

.

But she knew.

If anyone could be

A single use disposable douche,

He would be.

Hanging in Hattiesburg

The slow drip of the frost melting

From the sun’s multiple car window reflective.

Two men on their front porch mourning

the apartment parking lot view respective.

The bones of a Tuesday morning

Taking turns on a half-drunk bottle perspective.