by Devon Neal
By Wednesday my skin is like damp paper
on the hard surface of my bones,
and my lower calf muscles
ache with the repeated ankle kicks
of slippery sandals. Unfamiliar coffee
grows stale in the fishbowl pot, and the kids
have spread torn snack packages
around like confetti. Beach towels,
draped on the balcony rail, grow stiff
in the salt air, as the three white complimentary
ones sit like rain-drenched roadkill
beside the shower and its pale, bearded drain.
Just before bed the sheets twinkle
with sandstars, and a gritty restless sleep
warps with warm dreams of home.
Devon Neal (he/him) is a Kentucky-based poet whose work has appeared in many publications, including HAD, Stanchion, Stone Circle Review, Livina Press, and The Storms, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He currently lives in Bardstown, KY with his wife and three children.
