My office is a graveyard

My bug phobia keeps me from identifying

species. I’m not sure that it’s a clinical phobia.

But my bipolar, that is clinical and raw. Yes. Both.

I can’t let it get to me when the white girl at work

makes a half-joke about Mexicans—it’s okay,

she’s from San Antonio—or when my daily

lathering of testosterone gel is slowly digging

my grave, one shovelful a day, one shovelful

away from—I shocked myself when I killed

a gnat with my own small hand. I left its body

on my desk, can never bring myself to touch.


Also by SG Huerta

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