| |
I.
"Potential"
I want to be your poet,
I do not want to carry the child, nor do I want to keep her;
How burdensome such stretch marks.
II.
"Anything Can Breed"
Dozens of children in procession,
At this distance they’re so special, little nobodies
squirting about; Keep your distance,-- I’m not that kind of
girl.
III.
“And I will give boys to be their princes”
-Isaiah 3: 4
It’s raining
More like onions than bullets or soggy trousers.
The tires stop screeching,
Out juts the blond one,
Shove goes the shotgun seat: Let Freedom Reign!
Out jumps one, two, three shaggy headed mops;
Away scamps three back go two, one: unsardined.
Slam goes the shotgun seat,
Thump goes the blond boy, clutching his cell phonology.
“Shotgun!” Bastard, (Mission Accomplished). It’s raining
onions, They should have prioritized better! He’ll probably
vote for W, They’ll all probably vote for W. W would call
“Shotgun!” Bastard.
|
|
