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Feb  12
Chicken Shit for the Soul

By Christopher Shiner

 

The uncertainty in my gut is always an unwelcome guest.

He struts around, clucking along to Richard Wagner’s

“Ride of the Valkyries”, which he

blares much too loud for my tastes.

Its bombastic vibrations crash against the

inner lining of my stomach

and ricochets out towards my fingertips

and that small section midway up my spine,

like a billion hairs standing on the ends of my insides.

I’ve had to soundproof my skin

to keep the neighbors from noticing,

but then the silence makes the effect that much more unnerving.

 

He moves in about an hour before you come over,

and insists on staying the rest of the day after you’ve gone. He never cleans up after himself,

just leaves his shit strewn over the bed of my dignity,

and along the floor of my self‑confidence.

 

And I’m left with only one certainty

That next time

I refuse to answer the fucking door.




2 Responses to Chicken Shit for the Soul


  1. Cat Cousins says:

    I can’t tell you how much “Chicken shit for the Soul” sounds like me some days. I love you’re work, or should I just say you’re “Words”

    • Christopher Shiner says:

      Cat,

      It effs us all doesn’t it? Uncertainty in anything sucks, but when it comes to love, then it comes not only with a heaping handful of suck, but also self loathing, and furious promises that you will never let it happen again.

      Which lasts for about a day and six pack of beer.


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