Joke of the day
I heard this man
at the co-op explaining
with stammering certainty,
clutching a cardstock cup of
cold coffee to nearly a treacly
nose bleed, how, now, Both
of my baby mama’s asked me
to marry them—I mean, really?
Whereby the man with the
mortar-white teeth
immured in this
not-by-the-hair-of-my
shoat-brusque stubble,
who seemed to be
fielding this all
for a nickel, then
nodded and muttered
like one might
milk hot tears
from a glassjawed
cinderblock, Yep,
that’s just the way
it goes, I guess—
and now I can’t open
my eye to much more
than a Holga lens.
