I've never eaten a salad so fast
as when my best friend and I
went to a restaurant where
a man with one leg
and a loud voice
squawked about
something artistic,

and since I'm still a little girl
in body, soul and mind
I sit on my feet.

My friend and I stopped talking
about something artistic as well
and listened to them.

"I gotta take a ****,"
said the one-legged man,
and though my back was turned to him,
I could hear how tall and broad he was.
As he passed me-
that's how I saw his one leg-
he stopped at my table,
noticing my insecurities
and said,

"I wish I could still sit on my legs like that.
Hey get a load of this,"
he said to his friend with
blue eyes and no teeth.
"hah," said his comrade
and the one legged man
hobbled off to take a ****,
I guess,
but now I'm left wondering

Did he mean before he lost his leg
or before he was that small?
I thought it was a relevant question.

I can't put my finger
on what it is
that makes my gut
sour and sweet
at the same time.
I only know that you
smell nice and clean
and you have stains
on your shirt
that prove you're
a working man.
I might prefer a
starched white
collar and a
pair of designer
stays, but at
this moment I
enjoy garbage bags
over windows
and a low voice
that whistles
for dogs.

When I was little
the hair on my neck
would stand on end
when I dropped my
pencil in the hopes
that I would discover
a hole in the floor
for me to crawl through
and discover something
better than the first grade.
Every time I was disappointed
to find tile and hairballs.

Remember that time
at the beach.
You were the first one
with your clothes off.
I think you were already
a little drunk
but you would have
stripped down
regardless.
You never had anything to hide.

Because of you
I had the strength to stand
bare-breasted and unafraid
to all of the Atlantic Ocean
and sing about sunshine and having life.
You gave a number of people
the courage to take their shells off that night.
A bunch of naked hippies on the beach
like a flock of seagulls with a little
more heart.
We thought we could change
the world back then,
and I guess we still can.

Sitting at the counter waiting for my cheeseburger and fries, I noticed her.
It was the first time I felt like really eating a cheeseburger and fries
Since you looked me square in the face
And told me:
You didn't love me anymore.

She is beautiful, I'll give her that
But she's sitting at a table full of men
Burly men, not your kind.
What did she see in you?
What did I see in you?

What was her name?
Surely I remember that.
It was this name who caused the break up heard round the neighborhood.
She with her long, sun kissed-hair
(mine is short and black)
And her skin is bronze like a native Brazilian  
(I am translucent, save for my many freckles)

Come on, you know it.
But then my food came.
And then it didn't matter anymore.

I'll never forget her as long as
there are motorcycles.
When I pass one I offer a quick
prayer to the Harley gods
hoping she stayed with her new
beau, and divorced the sorry
SOB who prayed, yes, preyed
over her helpless body and
foggy mind.

She is sick! Leave her be!
You only hear about that kind
of nightmare on the scrambled
90's ****.

(She has ways to **** him, though,
she told me so herself.)

Swear to my higher power,
sure as Dizzy is the
Queen of the Road,
she'll have a way.
She always finds a way.

Tonight I am missing:

the attention
that comes along
with I love you

the smell
of his neck

and the strength
to get over it.

I wrote a poem about a
"semi-broken heart"
but ****, it really
broke this time.

I guess I was expecting
my Prince Charming to
sweep me up in his arms,
not tell me there's another
Princess.

I will never smell Basil again
without remembering
how you taught me to
try new things.

I will never read that book
you always tell me to read,
because I do not want to
be reminded of your
tragically similar brain.

I will send you those cuff links
and accept that I will never
give them to you in person.

It feels so good to feel.

We can sit and listen
to cello concerto's
for hours with no one
to bother us,
and I think her
lipstick is
one-of-a-kind.
I wish more people
wore gloves like
she did
and all this smoking
is giving me wrinkles.
I'm too young for those
I tell myself,
but the guest
who tans too much
says otherwise.
Her skin is painfully
taught and could
rip apart at
any given second.
The book was slung
off the shelf without
a moment's notice and
now it's really starting
to bleed onto the
bed we never slept in
and God ******
if I don't still sleep
in your t-shirt.
My soul is too old
for love.

Are you content?
Not happy. content.
There's a difference.
I want to know if
You can get
Through a day
And get by with
Enough gumption
To rest your dark, Irish head
And not think about my last words:

******* ******* *******

I didn't mean it like that.
I WANTED to *******.
I SHOULD HAVE.
But it came out
I hate you
Please don't contact me ever again.  

I didn't mean it like that.

I didn't know what to say.
I mean what is there to say
After he tells you

1. I don't want to marry you.
2. I don't love you anymore.

Are your gray suede shoes in tact?
Is the freckle on your hand dancing with anyone else?
Do you think about my dog?
Have you learned anything?
Are you content?
Not happy.
Content.
There's a difference.

We're
all
just
grease
spots
on
a
back
woods
road.

When I was a child,
I never fully committed
to a cartwheel.
My feet being so far off
the ground unnerved
me.
Supporting myself
on my own scrawny arms
did not appeal to
me.
Instead, I rolled.

I should really learn to do a cartwheel.

The old man
laughed at everything,
even when it
was never
funny,
and his hair hadn't
been combed for weeks
or more.
With a bald head on top,
he looked like some
exotic, near-extinct
bird.
He kept poking
holes in his styrofoam
paper plate with
his fork-fixing
something probably.
He doesn't know
I'm his granddaughter.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

The record player was left on last night.
It's almost broken, but nothing a little
duct tape can't fix.

SHUT UP I'M NOT LISTENING

He's calling and calling and calling
but I'm too busy to answer, I'm sorry.
You can call back when I get out of these diapers.
For now, though, I'll just sit in my
filth.

You
are
such
an
*******.
I
am
more
than
****.

I will stay at peace
with myself this time.
I will be able to stand
myself and you
after a rough day
when I've played
Cinderella on the
porch swing one
too many times
and sang too many
Eliza Doolittle
songs in the
tape player in my head.
I can put them
back on their
shelves, newly dusted
like a fond, old read
when I'm feeling
particularly thick-skinned
and deflective.
Good riddance and
good morning.

I'll be Norma because I'm
an Old Soul,
and you'll be Joe just because
you're Joe.
However, I would
never shoot you
in my pool.
I love you enough to
let you chase after Bettys
because I know
I'm crazy like Norma Desmond
a lot of the time
and that is just not good for you.
I'm never ready for my closeup,
******.
I don't have a pool either.

If I was a candy
I'd be a sour
warhead.
Pink.
The longer you
let me sit,
the sweeter I get
and at the very
center
is a gooey bit
that goes down
easy.
Everybody loves
a peppermint,
but I'm not that
plain.

I want to ride a train.
I want to sit in a passenger seat
(do they even have those?)
but the driver can't talk to me.
I'd roll the window down
(can I do that on a train?)
and stick both arms out,
cautiously though,
I don't want to lose them
going into a tunnel.

I think I can,
maybe.

That's the problem
I can't put my big toe on.
There are no rooms for maybes
anymore.
Maybes stand tall,
challenging the train,
until the last second when
they chicken out and
stage dive down the hill
where her friends are
waiting for her
waiting to see if she
waited too long.
Chug-a-chug-a
chug-a-chug-a
choooo chooo.

Will it ever stop
raining? The streets are flooded
and so is my heart.

I go dress shopping
for a dress I'll never wear
to that gala you
invited me to where
Meryl Streep wears
ribbons around her neck
and we call it Patriotic.

I wonder what dress your new date wears.
I'm sure it's plain
and will make do.

You know I make a sweeter
piece of arm candy
than the cure to cancer.

If I am Earth then
you are sky.

Do you remember our first kiss?
I try to forget it because
my ticker starts to fracture
right in the middle,
where all my love
comes from,
when I remember how you
tasted like beer and new things.
I closed my eyes out of respect.
The couple next to us
was making out
and you made the
most handsome face
I've ever seen.
Good-willed determination.
You caught me off-guard,
but when my eyelids shut
I saw a Fourth of July grand finale.
They were red and white.
The music was loud and so was
the pulse in my ears.
That was the last night I
hurt myself anymore.
You made me love you and
-most importantly-
myself with that most perfect
and drunk
first kiss.

Today I feel like
Audrey Hepburn
in Roman Holiday
because
I am a Princess
and, by God,
I will get something
out of this day.

Except there is no
Gregory Peck
to take care of me.
Instead I'll wander this
old Fort alone.

I get more out of
visiting places by
myself, anyway.

Today I learned:
The rifle was an
important key
to winning the civil
war

and that I can
make it on my own-
life, that is,
not a rifle.

I cut my finger this morning and it bled forever.
I came out of the shower holding it,
crying for my mother to come fix it
like a scared little girl.
She fixed it.

I paid money for a book of poetry
by a ***** Old Man.
You love his nonfiction and I love
his poetry.
One day I'll read you my favorites.
It was you who introduced us.
I would not be the person I am today
if it hadn't been for you or Him.
(Seduction by Bukowski, who'd have thought...)

What do you think happens at the
end of Gone with the Wind?
Yes, tomorrow is another day,
but does she ever see Rhett Butler again?
I think he gives a lot of damns about Scarlet.
I think he will always love her,
and what is meant to be will be.

When we dance to no
music the freckles on the
backs of our hands match.

So goes love. That's how
you know the scales are balanced.
Come back now, you hear?

I
am
one
rejection
away
from
softball
tournaments
and
flannel.

Too much of a good thing
can always end up
throwing you off.
For example: I've been reading
entirely too much Bukowski
lately.
I wanted to write a poem
about a family sitting down
to Thanskgiving dinner,
and the crazy uncle
whips it out.
Instead of writing a dissertation,
I'll just remind you,
dear reader,
to be thankful for
every single daisy
and every single
beer.
That's the Bukowski talking.

The flowers between our yards
were bleeding pink from their white petals

as if the pink were dripping onto the
dry leaves under my feet

when I plucked one out to remember you.
I told Brother-man it must have been

the most beautiful color I had ever seen.
Surely this has to be a joke,

you, God and his paintbrushes must have
hurriedly whipped up something in the dark

when I was up watching shows about
husbands and fathers who ****.

Then I spilled my tea in your chair
on Christmas Eve. How appropriate.

I even let out a yelp, not uncommon
for you, you dear, sweet old woman

who couldn't hear her own thoughts,
too stubborn to hear the thoughts of others

but always willing to listen.

My Daddy, ******* Him,
loved me so much
he used to pick the raisins
out of my Raisin Bran.
Every morning he'd sprinkle
the flakes onto two paper towels
so he could spread it out
dense enough
to catch any raisin scoundrels.
After sufficiently flicking
the cereal to-and-fro
he'd put it in a bowl for me,
with just enough milk
so as to make it tasteful,
and not soggy.
(Anything for his princess)

Well ******* Him again
for the second time
in these lines if I don't still
pick those little raisin turds
out of my cereal 22 years
out of the womb.

And ******* him for
biting my pretty red heart
in two giant pieces
and leaving me with
no way to sew them up
except a handful of joints
in one hand
and a bottle of prozac
in the other.

Know what though?
I was eating raisin bran
last night and I bit down
on a sweet, gummy
treat I had sworn to
despise among
all things
and I didn't *****.
I didn't gag.
I didn't do anything
but swallow it
and take another bite.

My tastebuds must be
changing.

She got a drive from her mother
and culture from her father,
but when you mix the two
together, what comes out
is a ****** little ****
with a bleeding heart and a
nervous disposition.

She'd rather paddle-boat across
the Atlantic Ocean than be
in a room alone with God's Adam
for one second.
A shark is a welcomed death
compared to one excused
trip to the bathroom.

I knew a man
with eyes so blue
you'd think he was blind,
and he had done
so much heroine
that he couldn't flex
his arms out all the way.
He had four teeth,
one in each corner of the front.
His name was Charles
but he went by Tripp
because he was a III,
but he's really a trip.

I can’t write about what I want.
If I do they’ll ship me off again.
They’ll lock me up and throw away that
key.

I deserve to be shipped off.
I deserved to be hanged, drawn and quartered
by the burliest of executioners
with a rope of braided silk
sliced with the epitome of a knife
and I hope my innards spill out
like gut colored ribbons and streamers
(celebrating my suffering)
and finally tied to the four horsemen of my recovery
pulling in four different directions.
Four different ways to “go”.

I don’t know who to believe anymore.
I am not a bad person.

Still not.

Call me already
set me straight
do what you have to do
to get me to
notice
you
from across the room
with your
perfectly manicured
sideburns.

i can't tell if you
have green or blue
eyes or one blue eye
and one green eye
but i do know that
you make me want
to jump out of an airplane
with and for you.
and now it's 3 AM
and i can't sleep
because you're blue green
eyes burn a hole in my eyelids
when i close them.

You asked me what happened
well I think I talked too much.
I do that sometimes
where I just keep talking
and talking and talking and
talking and talking
about Old Hickory and
the mismatched sweaty guy
in the Beetle convertible.
You were thinking how
I had big eyes the whole time
I talked and talked
so you just said, "yeah, right?"
when you should have said
"Yeah, he's my favorite
president too."

I know there will be
a sweet, sweet girl
who wants to be a
good mother to
your children in the
near future, but
on the inside I
wouldn't be much
older than our
children in that
near and terrifying
future.
Go and find her,
meanwhile I know
there is a nervous,
handsome stranger
who enjoys old movies
and British literature
waiting for me,
and that is what is happening
now.

Al Capone probably didn't listen
to the guy's whole story
when he knocked his brains
out of the park.

Stop me if you've heard this one.
You're in a dark theater
groping the air for
obstacles
as you stumble
center stage.
You realize there's a trap door
underneath you,
but it's not just any trap door.
It's dates that you'll
throw up on
and the beginning of bad habits
that keep you there,
and everybody here is your friend,
so you sit down and
hang out for ten years,
for the fun of it.
Then one day somebody
bings up a spotlight.
Just step in it already.

Let's play hide and seek
in the dark.
That's why I prefer
to sleep with the light
on if you want to know
the truth.
Because if I leave the
light on
maybe they won't come.
Please, don't come.
It's not your fault,
but it's certainly not mine.
The woman in me
died a long time
ago when he shoved
my hand down his pants
and she hasn't been
back since.
The wound still
drips ****
when you squeeze it
just right
and it's starting
to stink like a hunk
of meat left in the
sun too long.
Too long, I say.

How difficult to
give a child
a name!
I am sure that
when I have
babies
they will never
have a name
because there's
no way I could
just look at it
and tell what
correct
variation of
letters best suit
the poor things.
And they will
be poor.

Nothing stirs in my heart.
The paper sculpture was
held together with
spit and glue
gobs and gobs
of it.

Three blue candies in the morning.
One blue, one yellow, one white candy at night.
Keeps me regular

Sometimes I worry that
the only job my dad
will ever be able to
get is a buggy pusher
at Kroger.
I'm afraid he'll sit in
a recliner for a week
before anyone notices.
I know that's what
happens when people's
hearts are too full or empty
to stay in that recliner, though.
I can't be mad because
one day we'll all just
be sitting in our recliners
and then go.
I just hope I have someone
who looks for me
before I get juicy.

Fat, sweaty men
in ill-fitting suits
during the middle
of a scorching
Leo August
are the most
uncomfortable,
but not as
uncomfortable
as me when
in the presence
of a Leo who
makes me
sweat, but for
all the wrong
reasons.