My Therapist Tells Me to Try Meditation

How can I concentrate when my left
hip is an unattended campfire?

My whole body’s unseasonably warm.
The air is so still, I can hear the neighbor

dare his dentures with a cob of corn.
This morning, his prized hibiscus bloomed

redder than a baboon’s raw hindquarters.
I was tempted to tuck a bud behind my ear

like the gal in South Pacific, who washed a man
right out of her hair. I’ve washed a few

out of mine. Even the one who laid me down
gentle as hand-blown glass. He loved me so
completely, he moved into my apartment and died.

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Amy Thatcher (she/her) (@amycleanshouse) is a native of Philadelphia, where she works as a public librarian.