Everything is Taking Entirely Too Long

By Sarah Sloat

June and June and June
and through no fault of its own
summer doesn’t come.

Upstairs a phone is ringing
and all assume someone
else will answer.

Oh, at the kitchen table
my little legs hang broken,
poor horses.

Shoot me, someone. Anyone
knows to sit and wait
for nothing

is painful, painful
as it is to sit and wait
and be surprised.



Sarah Sloat grew up in New Jersey and has lived for many years in Germany. Her chapbook, "Excuse me while I wring this long swim out of my hair," was published last year by Dancing Girl Press. Sarah keeps a blog at The Rain in my Purse.

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