"neutrogena" poems
It was my cousin's wedding reception,
And I wore some creamy lacey dress
That had to be approved of by my mother
Before I shoved it in a bulging duffel bag to endure the
Six hours of Dunkin Donuts bathroom stops
And that weird stop-and-go traffic that makes me
Feel like the color green.
As I stood at the brim of the dance floor,
Trying to ignore the half-drunk staggering relatives of mine,
I thought about whether it's
Polite to pry your eight inch
Torture-o-thon heels
From your swollen toes
Before anyone else bothers.
There was a boy on the other end of the disco lights,
A silhouette that I knew to be slightly more muscular than the last time I'd seen it.
Just about my age, or maybe eight months older if you had to ask him,
Which I had about thirteen years earlier
With some sand in the crotch of
My Gymboree bathing suit.
I tried my best not to look over.
The lights mostly blinded me,
But I still wished to glance at him to see how straight his teeth were and how his acne had cleared up
Because of
Neutrogena SkinID Plus
Or something.
I could tell that he was looking at me,
At the too short lacey dress
And my straight teeth
And my peachy skin
And I wanted so badly to peek over.
I wanted him to ask me to dance,
Please oh God ask me to dance.
(Of course he didn't.)
He was a shy kid, even at seventeen.
He didn't say a word to me all night,
Even though we'd gone to the beach together
Since I was in Huggies.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
the scent of that moment
a mélange of:
orange neutrogena
axe body spray
dentyne ice
hair glue (yes, glue)
and apple body mist
...breathe it in
the look of that moment
squinting in the dark:
pursed lips
eyes shut
head tilt (37 degrees)
face lit up
by a movie
whose plot i've long forgotten
(or better yet, barely noticed)
...take it in
the feel of that moment
a culmination:
the gentle collision
of lips
fingers subtly grazing
hair like
beaded curtains
a tongue
accustomed to
the glue on envelopes
and melting ice cream
suddenly embraced
by another
...don't let it pass
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 1:52 AM UTC
Infatuation. Deep devotion.
Skin on skin, fingers on lips
Find teeth, find tongue.
Scent of perfumed lotion,
Whisper woman, cry more,
Hands refusing to untangle
Hands on neck, but not to strangle
More than just a little.
Infatuation. Deep devotion.
Nails in skin. Mouth to shoulder.
An emotional explosion in
Slow motion.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
So, you're a shelf stacker?
It's Stock Replenishing Operative, actually.
I mean, I do take stock and stack it on the shelf, but it's an easy job,
and I can do it by myself.
We're inexperienced, part-timers,
full-time staff are corporate climbers,
which is fine, but they really don't like us.
Fill the cage and wheel it out,
steering 'round corners, missing the customers,
don't hit the display,
they'll be hell to pay from the supervisor,
they'll vapourize, ya.
Thirty pots of Pesto,
here we go,
bent over at an angle, strainin' my back trying to untangle the packaging,
it doesn't have to be perfect just get them in.
Where's the footstool?
It's with Abdul, fair enough, I'll help him out,
have a laugh with the staff, it's the only way to get through, until
"Ryan! We need you on shampoo."
So off I trudge, to grab a box,
Neutrogena, TRESemme, and Radox.
That has dragged and dragged, but it's break-time now,
just 20 minutes to figure out how I'll get through the rest,
I'm not stressed,
just bored, very, very bored.
Working here has shown me what I don't want to do.
It's fine for a wage,
but I'd love to engage in something of interest,
a job that suits me best.
Enroll at Uni?
Maybe that'll improve me?
Then away I go, no looking back
and all those things I think I lack
will become history, hopefully.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 3:08 PM UTC