A Spot for Everyone

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes in the gap of gum where a tooth split.

Burly hands tried to guide

and slipped in the process.

It was an awfully out of place tooth as is.

Now, there’s more room for the others.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes at the kids table with eight ounces skim.

Well, they’re all kids tables.

It may take some getting used to, actually,

count on it,

but you’ll fit right in.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes at a bar with two beers in your space.

One for you,

and the other for when she’s over-served,

and redolent.

You take them both home.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes holding a button to keep them in.

The door thuds softly but constantly.

Expectation. Disengage,

and then they lay down.

You’re less relieved when the door opens.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes crossing the median with muddy vision.

It rains harder outside,

01:30 or later,

as though

Pulling over is an option.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes it’s rolling away in the car onto a different facility.

First time isn’t the charm,

nor is the third.

You’ll figure it out eventually;

that’s what they say.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes in a pukey bed until noon.

One appointment passed already.

Work isn’t until two-thirty,

dream on…

Just don’t wake up.

There’s a spot for everyone:

Sometimes it’s staring blank at a TV,

while the phone sings mutinously.

A nightmare swims, capsizes while the screen flickers,

then stark comprehension.

It changes nothing.