A sign painted dead whale

isn’t lying.


Take a closer look:

the water is filthymom 


filthydad. 

The water is filth.


Smells more like roadkill than fishgut

and no one carries a gun


not the cops or anyone. 

They eat sharks that swim 


then sink like a stone at the mention

of your swing set disappearance 


and reappearance as driver 

of the all-girls’ ice-cream truck

bracelets on all of their legs.


We get to know each other

in strange ways these days.

Come over.


I’ve got nine Barbies and you can bring Han Solo

and things will get good.

I might wet the bed


but a good friend would never

would just brush the crumbs out of the sheets.