In Lieu of Thanks

/ H. E. Casson
In Lieu of Thanks a green painted picnic table is not armour but I wear it between us I ask you why you haven’t aged and you shake out grey from under your hat I am silent my tongue between grinding teeth when I speak I set the table ablaze your hands cover it like a prayer and the stillness is anoxic I don’t invite you to mourn with me so when you do first rain then more rain we drag my armour inside by then I am smoke

This piece was inspired by a prompt shared by poet and editor isaura ren. You can find more of their work—and purchase their chapbooks—here. If you enjoy my poetry, you can find more of it here.

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