for TC
When things get bad enough I know
this rock, boulder, rather,
artificial, actually,
west side of a wash along
Aviation east of Swan.
The concrete shell at one end
is busted open and the rebar pried
wide enough for someone to enter
the rock headlong. Inside if
you clear the bottles and wadded
rags and shortstack cans of Pringles,
the cocoon sleeps two comfortably,
or one. When things get so bad
there’s one place past nowhere else
to go. Looks like a rock
with a ribcage, rusting. Length of
a man your stature. Get in. I know
you know. The worst is over.
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