poems by owen lucas

She's sat lopsided, hands crossed,
feet tucked rubbing, jerking in & out
of sleep by me on the wornout sofa.
Chewing air, she's gasping mute
"save-me"s, nearly biting tonguetip,
dropping her head then rearing up
a night mare, horsey squeak teeth
gleaming, wax lips bared, noddy.
Up and down jack in the box twitch
as if she massages her hair this way
to give it that Italiafro beehive pouf,
finally nods way down, forehead
meets hands in lap, back complains,
consciousness wafts in, flies by.