This day is an island of fog.
Naked on a bench, I don’t care too much
that my gynecologist calls me honey.
I don’t worry over the worn fabric
barely covering my right toe.
All that matters are the results.
If I’m abnormal–again,
we’re going to do something about it.
What the heck is a phrase
Dr. Hansen &I say a lot.
She’s said it twice already
about her rescue dog’s weird behaviors.
She’s also told me twice,
you’re falling apart on me.
What the heck!
I still need to row across town
to Costco &nab an orange
forklift aircraft carrier cart
to load up on dog food &toilet paper.
In the checkout lane I might abandon ship
to retrieve a bag of forgotten spinach ravioli.
Upon return I’ll strike a deal with another
blonde woman for my spot back in line.
We’ll understand each other, because
she’ll ask me to pull her cart along
while she likewise runs back for a bag
of pita chips like mine. And pasta.
I will simultaneously love &disdain her
(but mostly love), because it’s her &I
in this sea of forgetfulness &she holds
a place for me.
for Real Toads