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"Mojo"
by Jeph Johnson
It crept out from under the rug for about an hour tonight only to be shooed back with the long swooping brush of a wicker broom.
For that hour I had some hope. I showered.
My friend said he would cross his fingers for me too.
But...
My hair is a quarter inch long and very white. The only one who loves me is 750 miles away.
And I hate crying tears when others have it worse. But the only way I know how to help, is to be there for someone. But no one will let me be there for them. I need to be needed.
Oh, do I have it all wrong?
I guess I have no respect for the flashing red lights of someone else's gut
