NOT YET DONE

These tears are running down my face like the high tide at noon down by the playground by the sea. All I hear are the dishes in the dishwasher clinking as they spin their final cycle. The dog is barking at the moon, or maybe it is me howling and turning into a werewolf with a silver bullet around my neck, waiting to be set free I heard. that honesty is the policy, so let me speak my truth. I need some whiskey, and the taste of garlic on my tongue for the night is young and not yet done.