Doctrine
They call me slow to warm up
as if they are waiting for my
fire to keep them warm.
I am done being the soothing
soup coating your throat.
I am that last shot of whiskey
that brings you down to Hell.
—
Kate Carey never published anything except that crappy poem in the fifth grade but that doesn’t count. She had no formal education in writing until a retreat this past summer held by A Room of Her Own, but that never stopped her from scribbling illegibly on napkins.
