ISSUE 3
 

D.S. Maolalai

 

Everything's alright with me

​

my trouble, my wife says,

is everything's alright

with me. she gets bothered,

she tells me, by things that

don't bother me. and that

bothers her – that they don't.

everything's unfortunately

alright with me. I can't

help it. take punches muhammed

ali gives; get up and then

get punched again. it's fine

that she's bothered – I'm not

really worried. it's not very grounds

for divorce to be ok with problems.

sometimes it's 3am before I can sleep.

 

 

​

Companionship

 

down in the warehouse

which stands beneath

main office property,

next to the decommissioned

trailer and hitch (brake-

light line broken, unsafe for the road

with a load) we shield

cigarette ends from fire

detectors and sit in companish

silence. the lights are all out – this is after

5:30pm. we are waiting for pick-up

in rain which is petalling plastic-

glass windows in colors of lights

from the neighboring buildings.

one of the guys here

has misplaced his wallet, I think,

although everyone's suspect. we each

search the shelves in a casual

unhelpful way.