Improv: "wishes for sons"

Journal 3, riffing on Lucille Clifton’s “wishes for sons”


Wishes for an Ex on an Exercise Kick

I wish her cramps.
I wish her muscle spasms
and no bananas or mustard or halved, scored
tablets. I wish her insomnia.
I wish her fatigued dates
and why do I gotta get up
mornings.
I wish her lockjaw.
I wish her bitter sweat and
Gatorade by the gallon.
We know how much you loathe
to sweat and drive to the bar
with your old friends.
I wish your tits diminished. Let yourself think you’ve progressed
then take those Little Debbies
locked like liquor in the cabinet. Repeat.