you might as well
asked me to drink
bleach through a straw,

boiling to a point where
i could smell the sharpness
like a needle through my nose

and when girls say they
tried to drink men away, i
laugh at them

because yellow teeth
and lemonade
from the sourest of lemons,

squeezed and strained through a
sugared cloth by the hands of
your mother's mother

still tastes like ****,
sour as it may be
life is nothing more

than an endless
under-sink
cabinet