In the mornings he pulled on the trousers of the day but could not choose between his corn belt and his bible belt.
She asked me, “do you like Miss Donne?
You’re both girls. But my dad says that’s okay.”
Les just sit togeddah, we talk story.
Bum by Aunty sing a song, but fo now goin talk story.
Bout a beudeeful girl who wen bump her hed, jus like you.
Why didn’t I steal you
before doors were barred,
make a camp under the boughs?
What’s needed now is bodies—
when the cold wind blows
we knew you were trouble, in the pits of our stomachs,
or maybe lower…
So they named you Mona Lisa,
as the song goes,
blather on about your smile.
bares one swollen breast-bud scored of real clay
So you’re not the Anadyomene — suck it up!
Too much pudica peek-a-boo
Their faces are very close;
it seems he is whispering to her.