I feel like I have pills,
	yellow pills with
	speckles on their faces
	stuck stuck
	stuck in my throat.
	I feel like my
	tummy is blooming
	with all the last babies
	that I never had.
	I feel like all of the men,
	the pretty fish,
	who purported to
	but never cared
	and never cared to
	learn are standing
	right behind me.
	I can look them in the eye
	and never turn around.
	They come and go,
	men made of coffee
	and stray socks. 
	I don't wear black socks.
	Pretty, pretty fish, back 
	to the water.
	Gently, pretty fish.


14 june 01
M Madison