Poem: 'Little Man'

by Megan Ampim 

a little man at

the table

pulling apart, playing with

the plug from the outside

slightly severed

very disturbing

notice how the waves form

the little man swims

no stress required

or used

a little vague, a little

pale are 

his disregarded cries

internal monologues

are sickening and

illiterate.

perhaps the voice can 

serve purpose? the little man

complains of a sore throat:

there is no cough syrup

left. 

soon the day is washed

over with fingerprint

paint

the little man’s hands 

are red, his smile weary,

his larynx raw.

face to face with incompetence

he stares at the looking glass.

shards split into four.