Marsh Madness
Percentile rolls trammel my good fortune,
a mash of ham and potatoes with melted cheese.
The dragon slashes with cat claws the primrose
behind the shed. The government keeps pushing
down on us, the little people.
Hope flourished in the gloaming, but today the
burn marks ache like sin and I am not sure how
I am going to make it to town with no water and
no gas and no money.
I find an oasis which stills my thirsts, and I scry
all pasts and the future in its waters. But it’s
not home, at least not the one my marrow was
sculpted for.