Close-up, Nostalgic


Bloodsucker bugs in the side room

            w/ a bumblebee puppet           wasps and no batteries

a stuffed rabbit on skates.

                        I just breathed a knife              the greenhouse effect

            Mrs. Butterworth bottles         lining the sills.


The girl smiles from the side

                                                            of the bottle of dye

                                                            the pain of lost time

                                    and I wish I’d blonde               in the schoolyard at night

                                                a paper plate taped to my face.



Summer means nothing           slimy woods                 meta-noir

            cigarettes in the paw-paws

and at dawn the blonde ingénue                      crawling into the bedroom.

                        She eats sixteen cupcakes                    takes photos in barely-

                                    there cotton panties     in your mother’s drawers

                                                rooting for bras            feels like master-suite royalty

                                    tracing the tropics                on your globe with her lipstick.



My orange ombré lips              dominate                     decimate

            white-hot food for the boys                 droopy eyes between sizes.

                        In the morning it mists.                       I take his temperature

            w/ the plastic thermometer                 in the play doctor’s case

                        warn him of bare armpits

                  too much sun in the fun.



I curtsy long.    I drink rum in the dollhouse

            where the kitchen lights up.

I throw myself             into the lake


turn the barbecue into a wake

because what else can you do       when the phone doesn’t ring?



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