Workshop

I have read
enough poems
about kittens
and drug use.

The Arsonist

He smells
of cheap whiskey & keg beer,
having shown up at my door
knocking furiously in a plea
to hide him from the police

Undertones of lighter fluid
invade my nose, brushing past
me as he falls to the couch
and passes into darkness.

In the morning, I smell
a mixture of gas & sulfur
coming from the kitchen.
I panic and run in,
only to see him frying
the last of my eggs.

Fell

The hat he had
been holding fell.

Off the rack or
out of his hands,

we didn’t see which.
But we all watched

as he fell to
his knees and cried

for the first time
over his daughter

as the box fell
into the ground.