out of the mouths of conservative gals
who hate their lives. So, they find someone
to tear apart, piece by piece. It’s become their art. You

will find me in words of a poem. It’s my secret hide-away,
black on white, Times New Roman. You could learn
something if you get between the spaces. You will

find me before the antebellum, in school-yard nosebleeds
broken ***** and garage band singers, bell-bottom pants and
butterfingers, chubby thighs and cellulite. You will find

me after the break, when hair has thinned, but belly
bloated. Drinking wine and eating cartons of Rocky road, watching
reruns in my pajamas.  You will find me

when it rains. You’ll smell the ocean and feel
my pain. But do not cry a single tear. Sing my song and
you will dance because I did what I wanted to do.