flea market



I own this body

like it is a stall at a flea market

that feeds my family

I work it day after day and

when the creak of my bones or

my aching heart no longer

fills the sticky air with sweet sultry

melodies, I turn it up, not down

I could never figure out how to poeticize the pain

in silence, so now I seek the perfect speakers & don’t

mind one bit the kickback when my wails

overwhelm all the stalls…

my family is no longer starving


©2017 erin hoffman – all rights reserved

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