The sink doesn’t work, water shimmy’s through the roof, lizards run through the pantry like a circus train.
You use the N word and shout about stupid bitches and popping a cap.
This turmoil takes me back to another dirty house, desert bare spirits and twisted souls.
Just one trill of Mozart, one Schopenhauer on the shelf, maybe I could live,
But this atmosphere of scarcity of dark morbid destiny, causes me to throw off the chains and fly like a spectral slave on the road underground.
Gayle Newby has been published in Grit Magazine and in The Pontotoc Progress Newspaper. Her work is forthcoming in the Spring edition of the Hiram Poetry Review. Gayle received her B.S. in Education from Blue Mountain College and attended the University of Mississippi. Gayle has worked as a teacher, social worker and a librarian. She now lives and writes in Utah.