sure they're getting better.
I still see red down in their throats and
they still cough up phlegm and
sound raspy and hoarse.
these poems are never smooth like the
ones you read in fancy magazines, with
their flights to places unknown but
you know you're supposed to find them
sophisticated and just really good.
I don't read them.
Even if I don't know if these
are getting any better, they lie in their mud
unapologetically and call out what they view
as the truth as experienced by
this particular writer,
with no apologies,
just the hum of a fan
on a hot summer night.