A wish-
bone
is only
wanted
+ worked
to wreck
in two
by two
wanton
hands
wishing upon
that wreck.
That’s how
it works—
whichever hand
wrecks the largest
bit of bone
wins
the right to wish.
A wish-
ing well
is a hole
in the pocket
of dirt’s
dirty overcoat,
our cheap coins
dropped there
believed
to be holy
offerings.
Our worth
worthy
enough for earth
to hear
our beliefs
+ wishes—
our whole
sad story.
A wish-
ful thought
of mine:
the wish-
bone
remains in the bird
unbroken
+ the wish-
ing well
fills in
+ is pocketless—
broke
in this way.
I wish
you kept me, bub.
Your hands
busy with me.
Wanting.
Maybe I
didn’t offer
or break
enough.
Image credit: Winslow Homer
