He has a doctorate in goofing off

and paper airplane making,

spit ball rolling, degenerate forming.

He has spit but I am mouth –

I can’t do any better.

 

There’s an emergency exit

tucked in his pocket like condom, credit card,

a receipt from gas station for a Monster.

He also keeps his papers there –

I don’t know how he has so much space –

papers for joints and pots and flying.

 

I hide in him, sometimes.

Try to find more but he is a thrift store puzzle,

short five or six pieces

and I can guess, but never see him in full.

 

It kills me, but he reaches and grabs me by the wrist

and I realize, too late, there is no exit.

He folds me and his from is stunning;

I am straight and crisp and white.

He throws me and I soar

past big heads and small minds.

 

I slam into the trash.

The bell rings.

He leaves me on his way out to rot.

 

 

 

Anastasia Jill (Anna Keeler) is a queer poet and fiction writer living in the southern United States. She is a current editor for the Smaeralit Anthology. Her work has been published or is upcoming with Poets.org, Lunch Ticket, FIVE:2:ONE, Ambit Magazine, apt, Into the Void Magazine, 2River, and more.