Lay me down on your green shag carpet floor.
Fuck the world like your favorite trailer park whore.
Too drunk to come, too sober to care.
I stick to you like hot cigarette ash in your hair.
Let me be your sparkle jump rope queen
Let me be whatever you want me to be.
There’s so much love on TV.
I wish I was your White Trash Baby.
The service manager from Sam’s Auto Care
picks me up in his wide Ram truck.
Once a week he hand-polishes the chassis,
and it glows new and shiny red.
He tells me his kids visit on the weekend
and his 17-year- old now lives with him.
That’s the way of the world I say.
Lines crinkle around his eyes, he nods,
acknowledges our hard-earned
expertise on kids.
I tell him even though it cost too much
I ordered a new service manual
for my car since the old one was falling
apart. He says it’s important to preserve
what we have. We ride in silence,
in our common understanding.
I am full fat ice cream. An add-shot of espresso.
The long way home and clove cigarettes lit
late in the humid heat along the river walk.
If you take me, you get the back roads
through the countryside. We curve past
the farmhouse peeling paint; the cows that turn
with soft, dumb stares; the sunsets that stretch
the siren of evening all the way to town
where we shoot in from the roundabout near
the freeway, all fireflies trailing meadow larks.
If you take me, we bring the car up the side streets,
park it with a rolling stop. Finish the conversation
before winding up the windows, hand cranked
and casually. Feet then hitting sidewalk,
knees kissing hydrangeas. Sprinklers blessing
grass, whispering yes now in the nighttime.
I am sappy, signed Polaroids and oversized
cable knit sweaters. Kittens found in
hay bales and extra change in the tip jar.
If you take me, you get the car in park at the
overlook where the stars come out swinging
and your arm slides up mine and over
my shoulder like the hot pink cardigan
I’ve had since high school when living
was truly easy and the songs all had refrains
that seemed like they lasted forever.
(accidentally vibin’ after Chance The Rapper’s Do You Remember, sorry not sorry!)
think rewilding
caterpillars pollinate
the violets
then metamorphose into
fritillary butterflies
Below, a bird dog bounds over grass,
her head pointed straight into the sky.
Her bowl sits by the back door,
full of cheap dry food. One thing at a time.
I sip my coffee and listen to her half-growl
from the other side of the window,
a car horn chirping for attention
no telling how many streets away.
I can’t show you this,
but I’ll show you something else,
my canary in the coal mine of your heart.
You wouldn’t like this,
but you’ll probably like her
and won’t kill me so early in the morning.
My canary is yellow
but she’s not afraid of the dark.
I lower the rope and hope I hear her sing.
You’re all over
And I think I like you that way
I tried to hold off
But deep down I wanted you to stay
It’s a beautiful thing
Like those daisies that just sprouted
Unwanted, overcrowded
But still loved
Just like a dandelion
I gave into temptation just once
And you planted yourself all over again
In every possible place
I’m covered in you
And I hope that winter never comes
That you never freeze yourself away
Because in the dead, white, foggy days
I need your beauty to keep me safe
You’ve rooted yourself in my garden
You’ve taken over every plant
And while I never planned for you to sprout here
I’m happy that you’re neat
The curl
