Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-four
Winter 2010
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362 Days on a Loading Dock
Sarah Carson

It starts at six AM on a Sunday; there is a spider running along the
Halloween display, and he wonít kill it. He pulls his penis out where
the security cameras wonít see him. I am surprised by its warmth.

The winter is especially cold. A twelve point buck shimmies across
the hood of his rental truck. I kiss him through an open window at the
Mobile station. I begin to suspect he only owns one pair of jeans.

During the new year I leave the porch light on all night and the front
door unlocked. He hangs the spare key to a Dodge Stratus on a
thumbtack in my kitchen/living room.

On Valentines Day the company switches out his van for a newer one.
We load it full of two liters next to the Christian college in Albion. We
celebrate the leap year semi-nude in front of a mirror, but I am alone
on Easter.

On Motherís Day, I kick over a flattop cart of 7 Up boxes in the middle
of the diaper aisle. He pushes my face out a screen door and locks it.
It is almost June when I throw my two way against the hall closet. I do
not anticipate it hitting the floor in three pieces.

The company holds a meeting by speaker phone in the back of a gas
station. The man who dusts off the box wine tries to put his hand up
my shirt. I sit in the parking lot of a Polly's in Tecumseh for half an
hour before electing not to go in.

I am gone by the fourth of July.

About Sarah Carson

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