A Day in the (Chicken) Life
Look a bug
mine
no mine no mine no mine
where did the water go?
oh there
like before
was that rock there a second ago?
let me go peck it
WAIT
a bug
mine
no mine no mine no mine
let me peck that rock
whose egg is that?
oh its gone
hi people
hi person
what’s that think in your hand
it’s shiny it’s
no no no
DON’T TOUCH ME
I’m running away now look how fast
why did Helen’s head fall off
wait what’s happening
I forgot why I ran
oh, hi person
hi
Ode to My Butt
Oh! hallowed hindquarters, capacious caboose
how you flap when I walk, both your cheeks hanging loose
how you groove, gently wiggle, like gelatin pie,
and the smooth curving slope where the butt meets the thigh…
Oh! I love how you fill up the largest of pants
how you make me look good when I’m trying to dance.
My glorious gluteus, deluxe derriere
if I fall, then you catch me, a fine-cushioned chair.
Some say you’re too large, my sweet bountiful buns
but I think we both know they’re the envious ones.
Oh! prolific posterior, undulant underplace
I thank you for being a lavish home base.
10 Pm Harvest Moon
Out of the night
a glowing on the horizon
under starred night
I cannot uncatch my eye from this smudge
crimson haze
rising over the valley ridge
the moon
dyed with pomegranate blood
Our Lady Luna
doused in red
an unbroken yolk resting on the mountain crest
I look away
but am drawn back
by the waning gibbous burned into my eyelids
Virginity /Vәr’jinәdē/ The State of Never Having Had Sexual Intercourse
riding to pride in the back bucket seat of a mom van
a question comes from shotgun
do you remember what clothes you were wearing when you
lost your virginity?
stories spill
as I muse over mine
I –
I think I remember
high waisted floral shorts
olive green crop top
but
as lesbian music filters through speakers
how lucky you are how lucky to be you how lucky I’d be to
walk a mile in your shoes
I second guess
was it really –
how –
what exactly –
did that –
the technicalities
of my purity
do not fit
on your preprinted
olive oil labels
(extra virgin? probably not)
for when I had sex for the first time
the regulations weren’t written
for situations involving two vagina-owners (only)
an evaluation of my worth and respectability and cleanliness
and value and personality and
status and experience and appeal and attractiveness
all fit snugly into
an archaic outdated patriarchal objectification
a subjective concept
I am subjected to
without the power
to reject
shamed in losing an abstract illusion
too late or too early
deciding who did it “wrong” and who did it “right”
With so many contradictions
stapled to my soul
I cannot see my own merits
ripping them off
I arrange them
to spell
ENOUGH
and continue singing along to lesbian music in the back
bucket seat of a mom van on the way to
pride
