i bought $25 lipstick the same shade
as my lips to bury and forget
inside my purse

will have to switch to
red on february
first

late blooming
resolution

the streets have been washed clean by snow
our pool of dimes and nickels

neglected to remove, and every living thing
(whatever’s left) now drains drains drains

to that place
below the city

my back is finally straight and doesn’t hurt
i’m carried by my high heels and my confidence

the Sinkhole widens wider every morning
& i wake up late to watch it with that
feeling in my stomach i’ve been

punched

(but everything else is fine,
thank you)

Filed under: poems Tagged: drains, nothing, pain, poem, poetry, resolutions, sinkhole, streets, waiting, winter