February Bruises

She’s selling shit that she got as gifts.
I think I have lipstick on my teeth.
The sky pours out like orange juice,
pulp free, plus calcium and vitamin D.
We’re all a little depleted and pale,
a little bit like crusted salt-snow
between dogs’ toes or the hems
of dirty jeans, all prone to
faux pas, little gaffes,
February bruises.

 

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