Some Type of Regret

By Violet Russell

A hound dog gnaws on my
funny bone and I can feel
ravines wash down those
calloused cowhide hands
It’s a painful twist of fate
a Dundee knife vexing the
soft spot of my inner thigh
Choke down some ibuprofen
a clown smiles hello in the
overflown sink—it’s gotta be
plugged up with some type
of regret—chunks of ground
pork and red thumbtacks
and it goes churning ‘round
my washing machine stomach
I wish it would all just stop
Bubbles of hysteria work up
through my lungs—I can taste
my rancid laughter before it
pops from my lips