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Emilie Dean Sep 2010
licking a paw on
the sill, grey-white shadow
of fur and sun beam

this paw must be clean
this paw must
be clean. this paw
must be clean

he will clean it by
rough tongue to silk fur coat
two licks and nudge
paw to face and back

a warm god in the sun
looking for hair disturbed
this paw must be clean
William Carlos Williams pastiche
Emilie Dean Sep 2010
when i saw you hovering there
          some little
                    brown thing
i thought of my nails
          scraping across pink flesh
the amassing of skin under
          their beds
                                                 know this

had I been born from some kind of egg
         hatched as a larvae
                   thirsty for blood meal
the weight of the tortillas
        might not have felt
                   so light in my hand
as I brought them to you
        speed like colors
                   against a cabinet door
Emilie Dean Sep 2010
I might have seen you
          scouring the concrete ashtrays
                   for a half-smoked cigarette
drags of stolen nicotine
          flavored by the taste
                   of a woman's lipstick
black-brown animal eyes
          circled in charcoal
                   drag-queen precision
a rat-boy,
          tracing the maze
                    of a local shopping mall
Emilie Dean Sep 2010
Oh, delicious siren of the produce aisle,
your alias, “Vegetable,” above.
Come, let me pick you from the bunch.

I’ll run my hands around the contours of your shape,
checking you for holes,

“I’ll take this one,” I say,
bagging you up,
twist-tie tight.

How softly you ride,
in the front seat of the shopping cart,
alone with the eggs.

— The End —