Colin James

I Should Have Just Kissed Your Purple Lips Instead Of Confiding In A Herbalist

Democracy had its own aisle,
the shelves ravished disproportionately.
I pushed my crooked wheeled cart
banging into another hysterical shopper.
We competed over some vitamins.
Instructive warnings were not hanging well,
old signs sagged with faded blurry lettering.
Every week a new unsubstantiated theory,
labels up toward bad lightnings ambiguity.
The bathroom was smaller than I remembered,
flyers taped to a leaking sink.
Phone numbers of adversarial lotharios.
I found my supplements in the bargain bin.
Outside, crude ribbons flew in a man made wind.

Colin James has two chapbooks of poems, Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writers Knight Press and A Thoroughness Not Deprived Of Absurdity from Pisces’s Porch Press, and book of poems, Resisting Probability, from Sagging Meniscus Press. He lives in Massachusetts with two cats, Dorothy and Jane.