Ribbons float over the book
wedged between razors for shaving
away our rough patches and cotton balls for
removing grim and crime from our skin.
The staring book, its ribbons waving,
a radio is playing a song about shaking your booty,
so unimportant and not unique.
While the book screams at me, I want to
silence it, shake it, and smudge its letters away,
It reads: “Tengo Cancer, ¿y ahora que?”
Process notes: I have missed six days of writing, nothing came to me until yesterday evening, when I saw this in the pharmacy. There was a poster and the book was just staring at me, while I was waiting for the young lady to help me. Yes, the music was blaring and unsettling.