Paper Co.

I think my brain is eating itself.
I wake to smoke a cigarette and pass into the noonday must.
It’s not long before Ms. Shelley is cobbling together a box
for this frail boy I’ve brought along.
The girls here take care of me, I say to him.
He breaks the Styrofoam on the box as he opens it.

Our truck breaks down, and this sounds crazy,
but I’m waiting for him to sidle next to me.
If it wasn’t so hot, he might. I don’t want him to sweat.
Medicine from my throat crackles at intersections.
He lacks light and wakes in spells.
I must be crazy, I’ve no insurance for his love.