R u m m y P a r k
b y R e b e c c a L u K
i e r n a n
Champagne and blueberry pancakes at 3A.M.,
You read my poems on the internet.
Nothing good can come of this.
You say I want attention,
And I write like I'm spread-eagle naked
Daring strangers to say they see my pussy.
You say the old stuff is too angry,
The new stuff is haunting.
I don't know which makes me angrier,
You talking about me in ghost terms
As if I'm already gone,
Or as if you actually know me,
As if I were ever here at all
In this civil room of gossamer pastel blues,
Peaches in a Chinese bowl,
Heliotrope in a sea shell vase.
The obvious is never stated.
Bees get caught in my voice.
You keep throwing your jacket
Over my crotch,
But you want to eat it too
On the porch as the planes go by
Because it tastes like you.