umbrellas on a sunny day. Run off
to hide in the shade. They carry the
weight of the world upon their backs, packed
all tight in their gunnysacks. They carry their anger

in a powder keg/ waiting for someone
to set it ablaze. They carry their cards in
their breast pocket. And button the top so they
cannot drop it. They carry disease like

a dog carries fleas. It’s in their hair
and in their teeth, in all the spaces hard
to reach. They carry novels in their head. And read
them out loud every night before bed. They carry

themselves to the breakfast table
like a crafty red fox from an old wife's fable. And sit
as a stone staring in their creamed coffee. They carry
this off without apology.