seven
or eight, dad counted
pink baby possums
eyes moist closed
had to inspect
when mother was out
theirs and ours
reconnaissance
before I learned the word
hung the hose
over the lip
of the garbage can
turned it on
“it’s the circle of life”
filling the container
“turn off the water,” he said
“I’ll be right back”
returned with a churning sack
basmati
only rice didn’t churn
dropped it into the bin
everyday trash
trashing squeals
before a consuming silence
“we’ll catch mother tonight”
and went inside
too young to know
what that meant
zen or somethinglike
don’t want to sleep
don’t want to be awake
don’t want to drink
don’t want to write
don’t want to talk
don’t want to listen to music
don’t want to smoke
don’t want nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
key got stuck
maybe I will drink
I can hear the fan oscillating
she’s lying in bed, hasn’t said much these days
not sure what that means, sure it means something
I can hear the rain, it’s heavy
I can hear the faucet drip, too
drip drip
drip
I wonder how long it’s been that way
Andrew Lafleche is an award-winning poet and author. His work uses a spoken style of language to blend social criticism and philosophical reflection. Andrew served as an infantry soldier with the Canadian Army from 2007-2014. He earned an MA in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Gloucestershire. For more information, please visit: www.AJLafleche.com or connect with @AndrewLafleche on Twitter.
Thin Air Magazine 