Contributor: Jack Dolvermorris

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A swirl of something southern
a wet splash of something eastward
my parents were a slosh of secrets
of lives lived to tide the urges
built in air conditioned hells
where nothing happened
(except in the mail room)
(except in the back of the family car)
(except in sagging hotels on business trips)
(except in the driveway
and in the bed
and on the floor
and in the kitchen.)

A swirl of something southern
a wet splash of something eastward
all that was needed
to keep the separation only simmering
the normalcy of every air conditioned hell
paid up with greasy checks
like gas
like air
in the end.


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