• Caroline Naughton

Mars Falls

There’s a problem

The thermometer says

He’s running too hot

To be grilled

Still she grills

Without a sweat.

Yet each sunrise

Dampened mats

Accept his sweat

Hoping she might

Cool him down

With a blow

In the name of


So that he may sweat some more

Onto the anorexic

Who has gone to bed

To arrest

His sweat

That drips


The mat.

In the name of temperance

Or indifference.

There isn’t a care in the world

That can make her

Do his job.

Or hang his towel

Damp to dry

There’s a laundry list

Of reasons why

She doesn’t hang

Or help,

Or give, a sweat.

Forget the sweat

There wasn’t a care in the world

That could make her


His medicine

Was way too hot.

But don’t sweat it,

For he might’ve bled

Her karma


Cancer, oh cancer,

Don’t you want to stay?

If she gives you a good grill

You will

You might

You may.


He’ll come back

The next day.

To sweat

So she

Stays wet.

Or so she says

Mars falls

To the mat.

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