The princess-colored azalea

blooms don’t care;

they make their branches heavy bright


and rouge the thuggish sidewalk

when they drop.

Buster, I’m the sort who cuts


across the muddy lawn,

ferrying soil

on my Ariat boots.


This is not

a complete


of all transactions.


Oh, the universe is trying;

this morning,

I wished for Prosecco and Eggs


Benedict, but the Empire

would only

serve to me one rich omelette


and a glass of champagne;

it can be hard,

very hard, to live in the world.




Layla Benitez-James’s work can be found at Acentos Review, The San Antonio Express-News, The San Antonio Current and Gulf Coast. She lives in Houston where she recently received her masters in poetry and will be moving to Spain in the fall to finish a translation project.


One comment

  1. Pingback: Table of Contents, Issue Eight | Matter

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