like red rubber *****
till they hit the brick walls
stopping them. Then they
fall flat like Uncle Matt's

jokes. I collect them like cockle
shells on the beach. They're my
peach in the lonely afternoons,
when I'm sitting in the

sand dunes wondering if
they're going to jell. Why did she
tell me so with glee when it was only
make believe? Why did I fall like a

cannonball? Every time she opens
her lipstick mouth they dissipate
into the air like Uncle Matt's
gas in his recliner chair.