The braid

Observing the motion of two empty swings

trying to disperse the anxiety before the dusk comes

counting and recounting glittering backs in the parking lot

noticing children running behind the houses

without thinking unnecessary

only the laughter and shrieks

that’s true i wish i could become more healthier

through mine poems through mine intertwined words

and maybe i can plait those words so easily

because i have never had those long braids to weave

i have always felt like i was living

on the rejected bench

into some of the scratched rudeness on its surface like

DICK or YOU STINK

or HALLELUJA YOU HAVE AN FIR NEEDLE IN YOUR BUTT

like a microbe or a bacterium that lives there

into the perspiration of unknown asses that soaks

through soggy sportswear

hoping that one day there will be my prince

coming after me well and if not quite a prince

then a soul mate for sure

the friend

of my soul