If I don’t know how to speak then who does?

It can’t be the broom that snowballs the debt of this wooden floor that is an apoplectic zone for
snowshoes

Because if it were it would’ve already protested its purpose set by those lively things

You know, the things that are whatchamacallit…their own tool, a worldly good, pieces of business,
the next episode, fixed thought balloon, peculiar detail, in fashion with the now, the bee in one’s
bonnet, the fact of the matter is…

Shit, I need to take the shit out left by the things

So I cozy up and head out to the biting wind which blows the trash-bag I carry to glide me to its
opened destination as if it were a kid dampening down its hot served soup

And I do what is necessary, I throw out the things that were accumulated, which is mostly hot food
that a kid could’ve ate and filled themselves up with like a maintained dustpan

But now it’s going to stay out there in the opening for no one to inherit

Now that the body is dumped, somebody comes

They are exposed, but they got things on, but just not the most coziest

I say, “Aren’t you cold?” and they giggle like the crunching sheathing of a cricket when it’s stuck in a
cardboard box and reply “Well it was hot in there, so now I’m going to enjoy the cold out here”

Is that what the food said too?

It doesn’t know how to speak so who knows

But what I do want to know is the thing in front of me, so I look at them intently and say, “I can’t tell if you are human or not” and they reply with “What makes you say that?” and I say “Uhh, who the fuck is going to enjoy this weather right now? It’s -2!” and they laugh with warmth in their veins and say “Well, this human right here in front of ya”, smiling from one pole to the other
My mustache is turning into icicles, so I find an excuse to go inside, “Are you sure you don’t want
something to wear out here? I got a spare hoodie in there, I’ll let you borrow it” and they blush with
hotness and softly slip out through the wind, “No, I’m fine…thank you for the kind offer though” and
I say “I’m just trying to be a human like you, that’s all…have a good night..?”

“Ketzaly” “Have a good night, Ketzaly” “Yeah, you too…”

At least she’s not a thing anymore, but I am still to her. Maybe that’ll change eventually.
I close up and head to my car and from the corner of my eye, I notice something, an unctuous,
frosted arm made up of bogging excess and ripped black plastic as it’s pinched armor, peeking out of
its box…

It was a lively terror that was going to speak.