Laura McCullough

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Laura McCullough Poems

Mass Production

Sitting next to me on the plane, his arms jerked as if he
were almost out of control, and any moment they

might start to flail. Fear colored his shirt and hair,


Stand on the sidewalk
with a cup of warm soup, curry,
the color of wheat in late August, and let yourself

What Men Want

It's not a mystery. Blow Jobs.
Talk with any man who feels safe
enough to tell you about the man-
code, and he'll admit it. Blow. Jobs.

Weather Terrorism

A chimpanzee raised by humans
bit the finger off a visitor
and had to be sent to a zoo.
Later, his owner came to visit


I dipped my milky, star tipped breasts
into the night of his mouth, his hands
clutching my back. Into his dark, I poured
my surrender, and he became the reliquery

Laura McCullough Comments

Poetry Hound 25 February 2005

I can think of only one other poet,3-4 at most, who have submitted their work on this site over the past few months, that are in the same league as you. Your talent is immense and self-evident.

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