You’ve wrecked my internal thermostat.
The cold is hot and the heat is chilly.
I’m wrapping up in blankets and
afghans to the sound of lawn mowers
and fresh-out-of school kids asking
for money. I’m taking medicine
to avoid addiction, and sleeping
in to remember the day—looking
for signs to know life is more
in the palm of a poor boy’s
dad as he bounces him on his knees.
“Am I just one more mouth to feed?”
I ask as I fast and fast until I throw up.
Ripping off my blanket you
expose me to the humidity.
And now I’m left to eat to
starve myself from you.