Let's fight the fash.

Elbow grease to help you? No,
I’d rather sell you soap
and say you’re dirty. Flirty semblances
of insecurity flare up
and bite you on the knee

Hook a fish, and she’ll fight for her freedom. 
Remove her from seawater 
and she’s like a person pulled down 
into crushing dark where she’ll thrash for breath.

He took a bite of Mrs. Higginbottom’s cheese scone—it was magnificent, robust, and slightly stale—and then he began to laugh, a loud, raw sound that was immediately swallowed by the perfect, liberating silence of the winter storm.

We passed through the alleys with our sweat-soaked backpacks, past ten live chickens in a single cage, past animal organs soaking in red vinegar preservatives, past smiling grandmothers sitting on the same stool they’ve sat upon for two hundred years.