“Tuesday Evening, Eleven Fifty One”
I’m losing my powers,
when I played I spy a fire truck
in the parking lot with no ambulance,
I’ve been degaussed.
My young heart beats faster than a pizza delivery driver
thirty miles over the speed limit while on cocaine
I feed off wisps of air from
turn the scarred record over,
and start again.
Brush the umbrella off.
Cat litter kick softball field sand
while you’re at bat.
Firehose your shoes with 409.
Strike a match to hear the sound again.
You have your birthday to live through,
“Calling The Doctor’s Office”
My trench foot finally decided to check itself in.
Knocked around and if someone was home,
if the pain meds could come out to play,
swing into my stomach
to relieve the anchor paperweight jackhammering
my left foot.
I called to relay the fish-line into trees,
via Supermarket Sweep flute music
symphony telegraphing across telephone wires.
And the grave voice on the other end
relays to me in parishioner church coughs,
“We’ll see you at your appointment.”
Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she listens to music and scrawls lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work has recently appeared in Tuck Magazine, VerseWrights, Duane’s PoeTree site, Ariel Chart, and Synchronized Chaos. Her first chapbook manuscript is now part of an upcoming anthology entitled Ambrosia, a collaboration with eight other poets, soon to be released by OWS Ink, LLC. All proceeds from the anthology will be donated to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. More information about the poet can be found here.