cryptid in july poetry day 05, indrid cold


a poem about indrid cold

I should have been a hand model

Then no one would think I’m weird for holding my hands up to cover this
huge permanent shit eating grin

If I were a hand model
I’d walk along the interstate and stick out my thumb

Someone would stop ahead of me
and roll down their window waiting

I’d walk up with my hands
covering my face
and say “Please be my friend”

“Excuse me” they’d say

put me in a shopping cart,
tie my ankles and wrists to the inside of
the shopping cart,
and push me into the river.”

”I don’t understand” they’d say
and drive away

I walked back home,
squeezed lemons over my hands
and licked them

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