KIMBERLY ANN SOUTHWICK

MORTGAGE THAT SHIT


April thunder four days dead.
Listen to droplets on the windows:
fat clear stickers, pouty blobs,
patient hermits. The lightning

reminds us— electric chandelier, neon
candelabra. We’re gonna be normal folks after all.
We’re getting married.

Iron fence and skinny babies, toddler
named something from a song,
a blue popsicle stain in place of lips.

They’ll make fun of his and his sister’s
names. They’ll vote our dog out of heaven.
They’ll sell the house we built

out from under us, power it
via ceiling fan turbine.
Electric

________rain, eelish in your descent,
drop us off at home, pond-centered,
puddles on fire, display window circus-ready.

We’ll jump, land heels first,
rally our friends, throw on a Beach Boys
record and dance dance dance

until it’s time
_______to flip the damned thing
_______over.

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