He’s a glass salesman.
He used to be a sand salesman, but then the thunderstorm hit.
He plays the glasses like a set of bells, half him,
half the pickup of the distant cloud-grumble.
We didn’t sign up for this, say the clouds.
We were told we’d be a happy-clappy Rorschach test rolling across the backdrop.

Photo #1: Hammer on an orange
Caption: I will hurt you

Photo #2: Hammer with friends in sunglasses
Caption: I know how to drive home the sun

Photo #3: Hammer with dog in bed
Caption: Fragility is how I get off

Photo #4: Hammer in mirror
Caption: Bad luck in your future

Photo #5: Bent nails
Caption: You will learn my shape permanently.

My darling, my thin-shaved ham, my gross lump.
My friendly disapproval, my pursed lips.
The Xerox to my Kinko’s, the center fold to my spreadsheet.
The compost to my recycling, the litterbug to my jaywalker.
My glow-in-the-dark star, my expired calendar, my unscrewing doorknob.
The light in my hallway, the garbage truck on my street.
The everything on my bagel, the cream in my cheese, the culture in my yogurt.
My frilling hay, my bubbling disbelief, my taken aback, my unabashed.
The hair on my legs, my armpits, my groin, my cheeks.
My dimpling cheek, my cocker spaniel, my mop dog.
My hopalong, my cassidy, my unbewildered West, my conscientious objector.
My correcter set, my right number of pieces for assembly,
my instructions with no words. 

Cali Kopczick is an editor at Chin Music Press and the production manager/story editor of the documentary Where the House Was. Her writing is out or forthcoming with The Offing, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Bone Bouquet, and others. She lives in Seattle, WA.