I’m a little out of the loop.
Before the service, I buy breath mints
instead of flowers.
I wear the wrong shoes.
I leave my facial tissue in the car.

of mercy, this
is the oval egg
where mercy laid waste
and, wasted, layed
down her altar

“We can break the fourth wall. We’re writers—we do that.”

“I’m not that kind of writer,” I said.

I keep meaning to write a poem about something really smart.