Today’s Poem

Inarticulate

He lost something inside
her mouth. Directions to his bosses’
house. A letter he forgot to mail.
The way a t-shirt just laundered
smelled as he pulled it overhead.
All the conjugations of the word run
in Spanish. Where he last put an empty
cup of coffee down. The year
that Miles Davis went electric.
The name of the movie where the kids
woke up after sleeping in the footprint
of a dinosaur. Which airports
look the same and the different
subways it takes to get there.
Those lips, a man could shipwreck
against. He’s retracing his steps
to the plank. There the teeth gnashed
each other momentary then receded.

-Jason Braun