foot in the oven

sitting hung blue at my kitchen table
watching slim saugage fingers do a dance
i’m sipping on a drink stronger than i am
it sloshes in my mouth and leaves me dry
dissolving my chaos into order
turning my bubble laugh into bubble cry
the lights burn and the oven’s pulse is red
if i was another person, another heart beat
i might pretend i was dead
hung blue in my hard hard welcome seat
but instead i’m imagining holes in the wall
a picture that’s worth painting
friend’s that i’ll attempt to call
and for now simple kind, that’s enough