PERSONALS
by CD WRIGHT

some nights I sleep with my dress on.

my teeth are small and even.

i don’t get headaches.

since 1971 or before, i have hunted a bench where i could eat my pimento cheese in peace.

if this were tennessee and across that river, arkansas, i’d meet you in west memphis tonight.

we could have a big time.

danger, shoulder soft.

do not lie or lean on me.

i’m still trying to find a job for which a simple machine isn’t better suited.

i’ve seen people die of money.

look at admiral benbow.

i wish like certain fishes, we came equipped with light organs.

which reminds me of a little known fact: if we were going the speed of light, this dome would be shrinking while we were gaining weight.

isn’t the road crooked and steep.

in this humidity, i make repairs by night.

i’m not one among millions who saw monroe’s face in the moon.

i go blank looking at that face.

if i could afford it i’d live in hotels.

i won awards in spelling and the australian crawl.

long long ago. grandmother married a man named ivan.

the men called him eve.

stranger, to tell the truth, in dog years i am up there.