I don’t have a garbage disposal
And when I don’t take the garbage out everyday
The fruit flies start to gather on the old watermelon in
The sink,
scattering when I come for a drink
So I clean
and they begin swirling,
lonely, circuitous skywriters.
give it a day, and watch closely.
you can see them fall,
not circuitously, but straight down
like you expect a star might.
i sit silent in the light watching for them
(I think its probably not
gorgeous to stand under the streetlight
with a cigarette and feel like crying, but
it’s pretty enough, right?)
Under the stars, expecting them to fall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem