I wish I could own an umbrella.
I shatter small things.
I need Industrial Strength everything.
I tell K– that I cemented cinderblocks to my wrists for hands.
K– says that this is our gift.
That we are like the ocean,
Battering our things
And our bodies
Against the rocks of our decisions.
Those people on the news
Who died running the marathon:
I heard it, and I loved them.
K– says umbrellas invert like dead jellyfish in a storm
Because they’re scared of folks like us.
K– says we will always be the sort of people
Who step on beds and break them.
Because we were once expected to do the sorts of things
You won’t.