I put shells there, along the lip of the road.
Bivalves from last summer’s dinners. dog eats
a charred rock.

                          I have begun practicing
                          to eat
                          as well
                          with my left hand.
to slow
let it go.

              Don’t spit there,
              but walk to another room,
              another depositing drain

                                          enamel periphery 

water still small circle
in a slippery basin.

Copyright © 2016 by Douglas A. Martin. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 13, 2016, by the Academy of American Poets.