Jackson Sunday Morning

Miriam and I wake up to
Man in the Mirror

While we are dancing
and cleaning, the roommates,
one by one

come in and shake their heads.
Shhh they say,
it’s Sunday,

We never get to sleep.
Miriam and I turn it down,

a little.
Laura lays on my bed
because she gave hers to a friend
in town.

Our backyard needs a metal trash can
so the coals won’t all get wet.

I can see our bikes and bags of
damp coal from our window.
Last night the Wasko kids hula hooped,
ate hot dogs and burnt
tongues on hot chocolate

They made poems on the fridge and I thought,
I should hire them to write for me.

Hey pretty lady with
the high heels on.

We’ve been cleaning for awhile now.
Pausing to clip our nails,
get a back pack down from the closet,
try on a new sweater.

There is a yellow towel
on the line
near my window.

November air has it
stiff as cardboard.

Our door hooks are too
full of bags.

Doesn’t matter if you’re
black or white.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in fall, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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