The Sun is a greedy emperor, 

Shining its light across the Canyon, 

And evaporating drops of water. 

 

With the land so parched and no color than red, 

As I pass through an unmarked apartment building,

I observe a woman’s relationship with a stray cat.

Obscured by the shadows of happy hour light,

the dirt that has accumulated on the floor’s grout still shines, 

I am melting butter

in AP Statistics

draped over the desk

warm dripping out of leaky sleeves

as I slide puddley down the hallway my mother screams,

 “Finally, some fat inside you!”

someone needs to pour out my sneakers

The sun went missing today.

There were no rivers of blood or plagues of locusts,

first-born children did not fall ill, nor did frogs descend on the cities.

It was quiet. 

The black hole stood stagnant.

We could only watch and wait.