Matter

My stomach is made of rubber tires

Squealing down sun dried paths on dusty roads

How do you lose your dignity?

The child looks up at the face attached to the hand she is holding

Little by little

Chip off a bit here

Bite off a chip there

Top off the bottle

Clear liquid matching the elegant spirits inside

Taking on the shape provided to it

As liquids are defined to do

Do you cease to be a liquid

When you don’t agree to the shape provided?

Maybe, abandon the premise?

And transfigure your matter form

Figures lines the cupboards neatly

With the sweep of a limb

Shatter the glass

And start over

Morph into new solid matter

For better or worse

Or give up and

Take on a gaseous form

And with a puff of smoke

Gently float away