11 September 2018


Your helpful idiot, 
your side character,
has been losing sleep.
The food pantry was closed.
No more pasta.
No more torn shirts pulled over
sweaty sports bras,
rushing to get some place 
cinder block building
of my dreams,
cool concrete
for my tired body.
I'm tired of being angry
but I'm tired of explaining,
of explaining a wet face
that you've spit upon.
Your helpful idiot
is going
back to bed.