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Three Poems

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Written by Jasey Roberts

Text from My Mother, 3:09pm

Can you run Roomba

and make sure she gets under the bed

where the dust collects, and I cannot

reach? Make sure she doesn’t get stuck,

you know how she gets,

with rotor-brushes like little spider fangs

sunk into a sock she can’t suck up. 

She works so hard, and I love her dearly for her belly, 

crammed full of lint.

 

On Brushing my Teeth Late at Night

Right now, it’s unconquerable. 

Why do I do things

with no immediate benefit

other than the promise of eventual health? 

Eventual security? I am in bed,

and life feels pretty damn secure.

 

In the morning, my face has a swamp

filled with frogs and ivory pads 

floating in muck. 

Or maybe- a rotting piano, 

with uneven, pliable keys

that could have been restored,

if only someone had taken the time to do it.

 

Second Dog

You’re not as nice as the first one. 

I buy you treats to clean your mouth

because it smells like rotten salmon and floor puff,

but your mouth still stinks. When you sleep, 

you don’t sleep in your crate like Bear did. 

Instead, you scuttle into my room and get under the covers 

and nudge yourself right between my legs, 

cold wet puppy nose prodding everywhere. 

We play fetch in the yard, and you run

over Bear’s mound, bringing the ball 

but refusing to let it go.

I wonder how long it’ll take for me to get used 

to the way things are, and how soon that moment will be 

before they change again.