Nicholas Wilsey

N i c h o l a s   W i l s e y

next

We Are Out of Mustard

A man has his hobbies. A country is hungry.

The core of the Earth throbs in 3-D

like in an end-of-the-world science fiction movie.

I am coated in seven layers of sunscreen.

Heaven wants to abduct me with its energy beams,

so I sleep on the couch.

The house beeps its fire alarm language

so I wake up

and make a last-ditch effort to make a sandwich.