Little Hells
The church towed my car and
God clapped in the clouds,
he laughed at the things
that I couldn’t figure out.
Where have I put you, Jetta?
White, heavy friend of mine?
Pace the lot then walk home
twenty streets up an incline.300 limbs later and there’s
new blood on the floor
of an old dirty apartment
right next to the liquor store.
The heat has turned cold
and the oven never cooked,
a stranger steals my mail,
it’s my complacency he took.
I got my Jetta back
but someone hit her right wing
and now she needs a new bumper,
but I’m still sleeping on a box spring.
My spine is misaligned,
it’s not the only thing that hurts,
because my best friend said goodbye
as I’m too much of an introvert.I’ve gained five more pounds
eating the pizza at work
where the customers are assholes
and I choose bad tips over homework.
I had to send my dog away
because she cried in her kennel,
and my neighbors don’t care to notice
I’m in a million little hells.
