Patrick Sweeney


he lived for years without a kiss on the lips




he liked to tell perfect strangers he had diphtheria as a child




using a wooden ladle to adjust the satellite dish




it was my turn for shoes




when I said 'I can't imagine how you must feel' I was lying




part of me has begun the search for the elephant graveyard




by the time I got there her bed was stripped




the time I wished my dead brother wasn't home




asking me again if I locked the back door




answering the thunderstorm with a flushed toilet

Patrick Sweeney is a writer of short form poetry, who delights in jotting down the insignificant thoughts and images that constitute the lowly, livelong day.

 
 

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