If I must have a body I will bend
it to these empty carafes
& clink their necks together
in my tarantula hands. On my
astral projection, I will inhale
what I can. The can I dragged
to the dumpster begged for
forgiveness. The dumpster
whispered with conviction.
The bottles echoed the same
shatter when they went in.
When there are three dozen
glasses on a tray, gathered in
my name, I like that. When I
started, if you dropped a glass, the
restaurant, united, would erupt
into: “Job Opening!” The stars
would shatter across my field
of vision as I peeled the shards
out of my shaking spider paw.
I take pride in my aptitude
for having my hands full
of crystal. I take the crystal
out of my hands one at a time
& pour out the twenty dollar
remains of a bottle of wine. If a guest
spills wine on me, it is a miracle: water
off the duck’s back. If we drop every
thing, for even five minutes, they
will beg for forgiveness. When they
beg, I will only see stars & hear whispers.