Days that Stepped on a Porcupine
By James Grinwis

Symptoms of stress
not hard to come by.
Look forward, not back.
The sunset's clogged up there.
Myths hanging off it
like drunk kids.
A quill jammed tight.
Up to philosophers
to yank it.

*
Justin had just lost
his third job in four years
and was on his way
to pick up his girlfriend
at the airport. It had been
a month of separation.
They met in the baggage claim.
"You're the best, Allie,
he said, "without you,
I don't know where I'd be."
They were pulling out
of the parking lot. Allie
stared at the windshield
and began to cry. "I'm sorry,
Justin," she said, "I'm sorry
for everything."

*
Tricia's poems were getting
pummelled. Riddled
with holes, a wholeness
of holes. A fuzziness seized her.
What to do, what to do.
A horse in midwinter
looks like a monk.

*
Loki held up his paw.
The thorn was stuck
between the pads.
"I think he stepped
on a porcupine,"
my four year old said.
I pulled, the blood
gushed. It flooded
the road. I don't know how
I became what I hate.

*
A hydrobot is a robot
in water. What's down there,
down and out? They were
wrestling the big one down.
A squid of salty bones...
A big hello to the superstores...
Beginning to stretch
like a flame held up.

*
She was hung over
and wearing that tight, skimpy
thing. It slowly started
to kill me. I was in lust,
it hurt, a throbbing kind.
"I want to eat you for breakfast,"
I said to her, "with my eggs
and bacon." I appproached,
got slammed softly
with the blankest of looks.

*
Odd, you who have been
so warm, an Algernon

of dependability and peace,
suddenly gone
into an arctic fault
of some sort.