1
When I kissed her foot there
in the dark in the tent I never wanted
that feeling to end I wanted nothing more
than to kiss her foot but she pulled it away
and then she was gone too. 

2
So I went into Todd’s foyer and of course
the old woman in the next apartment came down
at that exact moment with her two young daughters
and I said excuse me while I hide
this bag of beans beneath the stairs.

3
In a subway tunnel the walls made of blue tiles. Snakes
are everywhere their tongues flicking the air
some crawling through holes in the tiles. My father
appears walking towards me to save me
but he can’t avoid stepping on the snakes.

Michael Estabrook is retired. No more useless meetings under florescent lights in stuffy windowless rooms, able instead to focus on making better poems when he’s not, of course, endeavoring to satisfy his wife’s legendary Honey-Do List. His latest collection of poems is Bouncy House, edited by Larry Fagin (Green Zone Editions, 2016).