Written by Deborah Coy
IT
can’t keep anything
more than
a hand warm.
It’s not like
IT
is a tripod
where he can rest
whenever he takes
a notion.
IT
doesn’t lead him,
like a witching wand,
to the nearest water.
IT
can’t hammer a nail
IT
can’t keep anything
more than
a hand warm.
It works like this –
why carry around
a heavy ol’ pocket knife
when your partner
has one you can borrow
anytime you want?
Oh,
on occasion,
I admit
there’s just a
little envy.
At intermission,
for sure,
I long to enter
the short line.
When the wind blows
in the mountains
he can just whip IT out.
while I
unbutton, unzip, pull down, squat
and hope
the wind doesn’t shift.
Check this poem out in print in Serpentine Vol. 3
serpentine 