Found in Willow Springs 80
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I am like my parents' house, in a state
of constant remodel we can ill afford,
the noise behind a tarp producing little more
than dust. But the footprint must change
despite great expense. Large parts
need to move for the sake of flow. I learn
the trick is to appear intact, though recently
the problem of my torso is introduced.
My mother says I've always been a little
Jew around the waist. She had specific
hopes, shelled out for the stag tuxedo suit,
sent me for cotillion lessons. Mind like
a boardwalk jewelry store, heyday 1962,
she wears her hostess gown in the kitchen
while I creak along with the crock pot
pulverizing our Sunday stew. Because
I'm an only, she put a TV in my room
for company. It's a solid business, taping cable
porn to VHS. But when I'm caught extorting
the gym coach, meds are discussed at school.
My mother says we don't do meds,
my dad and me. And I’m not caught often.
Who would I be without this brain that itches
like the dragonflies I hose from the pool's filter?
Instead, I take myself in hand. I buy a trench
with birthday money sent by a childless aunt
we thought dead years ago. We don't use
the word "lesbian" because my mother says,
Who says that sort of thing? I perform my coat
darkly in a graveyard split by an interstate where
our housekeeper's son is housed. Here, I feel most
vivid, futurely, Peter Parker praying for his spider.
Oh, I am replete with plans. I'll be like that prince
In the novel I didn’t read in English class.
I don’t finish books, but I get the gist-
some sad lady who offs herself by train. Ballroom
Unpronounceable Russians suffering. Blah blah.
But that guy Stiva eating his sausages? Someday
I'll have a faithful servant, too. Or at least a wife.
I fear I'll always be a little piggy in the middle,
but that grease I'll lick from my fingers,
it tastes like everything now.
