Trio No. 3

1.
"Do you want more?", asked my dentist, a question he has asked hundreds of suffering men and women.

"Do you want more?", asked my therapist, not caring how I would answer.

"Do you want more?", asked my mother, knowing there was no more.


2.
Rainwater feels clean on my tongue.




Is it?


3.
A list of objects a and compound objects:

A blue sports car.

Rice, spilled on the counter.

A very deep footprint in the snow.

A dog's muzzle, bloody.

Three greeting cards, just purchased.

A clock tower, lit up at night.

Two cigarettes, extinguished in a coffee cup.

The coffee cup.

A horse, smelling like a horse.

Someone's car, abandoned in the woods.

Red bones.

Leon Redbone's bones.

A tennis ball, used in a match.

A pair of high-heeled shoes.

The town I grew up in.

The rollerblades I wore out there.

A bandsaw, which once took someone's finger.

Thirty flavors of ice cream.

Lichen.

A doorbell, broken.

A baseball, signed illegibly.

A letter professing love, sent or unsent.

The name of a serial rapist, carved in a cement wall.

Dust on a porch swing.

A garden full of peas.