I wish I had some liquor to christen each of my
(or at least root beer) : they go better by that, the itch to burn
Next to your legs scissoring, so sharp and sexy
Like they could do paper crafts;
I bet you could create anything by just crossing them,
Witchcraft- I bet there are all
Sorts of fingerprints up and down their Siamese rivers,
Not even all human: , but no safe way across.
I don’t care. I blew out the candles
And made a wish for your legs, something to take down
And tell secrets to amidst the prickly aloes,
To whisper to beside the ancient car port as my parents
Drive in bringing home fried chicken and apples,
So very young and successful and carefully dangerous.
Don’t you see them, that nimbus of lighthearted in-laws?
You know where it is- You don’t have to pretend,
Where baby teeth are still coming loose.
Where the gold fish is harassed by the gray cat who
Died so many years ago- just wandered off.
There is pornography inside the chassis across the ditches-
Leather tramps and a few Mexicans are licking there lips,
But not for any kind of job. Yes, it is my fairy-tale, but
No one doesn’t have to know about it, except for you.
So come and I’ll give you a cool beer,
And we will watch the rabbits pin themselves all throughout
The turquoise rock garden my mother had an easy time planting
With all the out of work actors and scorpions and
So many little things which like to sting; put your eyes and lips
On my subtle wounds, spit on them and send them off;
and your breasts upon my heart,
Like cold chicken or ham, if you prefer, and I want to make love
To you because hasn’t it been so very long since we dreamed that way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.