Clumsy @ 29 By: Pat Deshawn

With a fox tail,

I brush my many tiny selves into a pile.

Reflections

through the broken drinking glass.

It seems that at 29,

I've still not mastered the art of holding.

Of forming a fist around what I intend to keep .

Once the floor is clean of me,

After I've thrown all of me away.

I'll pick up a plastic cup from the cupboard this time.

I'll keep trying to end the thirst.