Abandoned in the cracked blue
swimming pool, eyes riding
just above the surface of clotted algae,
they set the tone
for my days.
My feet become splayed,
step awkwardly
among ripped pillows
billowing feathers on the porch,
soft bodies of dolls, game pieces—
sharp edged racecars and red
hotels, paper money, mostly ones.
Skin shriveled in dry air,
counter covered with remnants
of unsavory meals, my tongue
licks in and out, tasting
an atmosphere congested
with thick and dismal words:
heartless, divorce, deceive,
disgust. A swamp devoid
of ways to move except at night
when I feel my long ago tail swish,
my amphibian lungs swell,
wide mouth expand,
freeing a ruffian croak.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 2.
Judy Kaber’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Eclectica, Crab Creek Review, Off the Coast, and The Comstock Review. Contest credits include the Maine Postmark Poetry Contest, the Larry Kramer Memorial Chapbook Contest, and, most recently, second place in the 2016 Muriel Craft Bailey Poetry Contest. She lives in Maine.
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