by Abigail Kirby Conklin
I miss the thing I thought normalcy
was, before I grew up and started
blowing money on booze, board games,
and failing to get laid, because
as it turns out,
men do not look at me and think
I would like to take her home.
I wonder if she used
to pull crusts off of sandwiches.
I would like to know the smell
of her skin after she falls asleep.
How does she sound breathing
on one hundred degree days?
Open doors with sticky jams?
Answer the phone when
a telemarketer calls?
"Why does she drink without
the straw?" I want to be wondered
about. "Why is she letting it poke
her cheek every time she goes
to sip off the rim I wish