The Person You Were Becomes the Person You’re Without

Cumulonimbus clouds 

are not trampolines—

neither are hot air balloons

or graduate schools.

I get upset when 

I finish washing the 

dishes. Empty wine bottles 

propped on the drying rack.

I’ll throw them in 

the recycling,

I just want

them to 

feel

clean.

Bogs eat slippers and boots

and people from the past

that had families and passion like us.

Jump into peat expecting to bounce,

at least your fossil will have

a happy expression.