you heard
I heard you swallowed a river
but called it a shot so no one would mind
the waters running along your cheek and
then I heard you making secrets in the
room next-door, disguising them as tiny tree
ornaments folded out of paper and put away
in a basement box for next-year, already dusty
when I heard you have the kind of sick you only
know is sick because plain crackers are the only
thing that tastes good, the only thing that doesn’t
make your stomach churn sideways because you
know I heard you turned that river briny last night
with your cracker salt and floated that basement
box downstream pretending it was sent to chase
those bad-tasting headache shots away when really
really it was just the secrets I heard you sneak away
away with sneak around with sneak up down-town with,
I heard you made a mess in the bathroom
bathroom but blamed your friends for clogging the drain
the drain with salt.