Poem A Day/ April 24th, 2012 – Misti Rainwater-Lites


He thinks I’m stupid. He thinks I smell bad. He gives me
a book on basic etiquette and a bottle of sex burst perfume.
His new wife is such a fetching bitch. She has excellent
improvisation skills and a killer ass. I’m sulking in the corner.
The world has treated me like a lesser fish but still I’m gasping
and gutted and frying in butter in some man’s skillet while
old black voices croon medicine on the new moon station.
Some man is going to eat me with hush puppies and tartar sauce.
Some man keeps killing me. I’m living thrash to thrash.
Each day is a deliberate ouch a manic seek a throaty plunge.
Mother is exasperated. When is her girl going to start making sense?
The sun. The pond. The rusted toys. This broiling expanse
so choked with weeds.


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