has published
my books. I’m pressed
penning my rhyme
noting it down and sending

it out. I press my shirt
and skirt to impress them. I wear my smile
underneath my frown. I repress
my loneliness in a *****

martini. The olives are stabbed
with toothpicks like bulging weenies. I take them
out of their piercing log and swallow them
down as a hog.