Grief is a heavy load to carry.

I watch the cycle spin forever

As it cleans the year’s losses from my slate.

Dad has been sick

And Mom almost lost her job.

Like a flash of lightning, all of our money is gone.

But, hey, at least the lights are on.

I sense a plague in the air—

Casualties of catastrophe,

An astronomical number of bodies piling up.

I fold them

And dry them

And hang them in my closet to forget about them when the summer days make me want to peel off my skin

And jump in with the cold rinse.

Oh, but December brings its own poison.

Sulfurous snow

Painted by Van Gogh’s groupies

Yellow blood for leeching happiness.

One thing after another,

Falling like dominos.

Now I’m at the center of a huge mess

With no more room on the line for your dirty laundry.