Crooked yellow teeth.
Black gaps peek through lips, flirting.
We kiss. It is Spring.

Wintertime coldness.
Cold lard flakes delicately
From yesterday’s plate.

Porch rails lean gently.
A loose nail peeps out.
I’ll fix it next year.

Eight months pregnant
Springtime brides blush prettily
Married at fourteen.

Morning mail. We dance.
We shall feast at Burger King.
Our welfare checks came.

New Year’s Day is here.
Cold pork and beans from the can.
We fight for the side meat.

Red lips touch the flesh
Of greasy day-old chicken
Chunks of lard still cling.

Little cylinders
Of glistening silver
Grace the lawn. Beer cans.

Our lunch-plates licked clean
By pink sandpapery tongues.
The gravy has fur.

Crinkly tin pans
Hold frozen TV dinners.
Why bother to thaw?

Today we shall feast
Loaves of stale bread and hard cheese
Commodities came.

Bluish-orange bumps
Of spongy fungal matter:
Coffee-ground garden.