the Brooklynian Joneseses

the
fifty-something
couple
below me
have more
[loud] sex
than me.

they
have accents,
smoke
cigarettes,
and I
hate them.

[tho maybe,
they are
something-like
happy.]

I,
late
twenty-something
shut-in,

am
decidedly
not
settling
for a partner
just fine
enough.
[for now]

I have
[quiet] sex,
alone,

Which may
Sound sad
In reading.

[tho maybe,
I am
happy too]


Tenacious

little girl

“little girls,
don’t let
anyone
ruin
your flowers,”

the woman in
black hood
croaked

during
a lecture
on,

“THE IMPORTANCE
OF REMAINING ‘PURE'”

ruler in hand

SMACK
:smack:
SMACK

palm up;
ripe from
the hitting.

little girl
looks outside
the school-house
window.

the grass
there

placed down;

forced
to be.

TOLD
to grow,

MADE
to grow,

in these
unnatural
conditions.

a single flower
sprung up,

at its
rigid
corner edge.

its petals
stretch their
arms out

to embrace
the suns
hot kisses.

its petals

delicately
laid upon
its base,

none-the-wiser
that
some
call it

a weed.

its stem,
totem of life,

holding up
radiant form.

fiber
upon fiber

sucking-up
mother’s
liquid affections

from buried
heart strings.

oh, how it
has bloomed,

unaware
that it
is
SLAM

:the woman
in black hood
closes
the blinds:

little girl
is scolded

for appreciating
natural beauty.

intrusive

impure

the nun
finishing
her lecture,
continued,

–“AS
I was
saying…
masturbation
is a sin.”

#discoverWP