Emily Kendal Frey
Things Were Just as Bad
Things were just as bad as someone said
they would be. There was a goat, and a hill,
and a bad bus driver with a plan. It was the town's
job to absorb the losses, or build a new well.
It was a place wearing cat eyes. A woman
walking by the general store tripped on a stone
that reminded her of her mother's face. It was all
very textured, like a mask that makes your face sweat.
Recurring Sex Dream Involving Don Cheadle
I'm in the men's locker room and I've just finished working out. I take my clothes off. They are wet. It's showertime! "Time to hit the showers," etc. I see a lot of guys going into a steam room, a line of white towels, marching forward. I enter after them and Don Cheadle is there. We're alone. Sweat pools in the middle of his chest. I notice that his towel is tenting against his skin and I move it aside—he's not really acknowledging me, but I get the head of it in my mouth—it feels like a warm doorknob or worn piano key. This is some kind of victory!
Date
What we do exists
now more than ever
in delay. Half-there.
We're under a strobe
only the light won't blink
back on. Dark crosses
our faces in slats.
You keep making jokes,
twirling the straw
in your watery drink.
A sign above the bar reads
Go home. It's late.
But not so late that we'd
consider leaving. We've
stopped going home.
I'm fixed on you,
waiting for a ripple
or an emanation.
No use. Through
your shirt I can see
the plastic outline, bent
like a flamingo
in your fake lawn chest.
Where things used to live
it's dead.
It Fits Inside
Dear Jalapeno,
Dear Stadium,
Dear Stripes—
We stood out like mechanics
in the moonlight.
We had the old ones
in dirges
of even verticals.
We replaced the missing
spokes and pinwheels.
Dear Horoscope,
It's a deal.
Dear Easter,
Dear Western,
Dear Horizon,
Dear Enough—
The circus
is the anteroom.
It's coming through.
Morning Glory
Dear Jalapeno,
Dear Kin—
Do the insects meet
with your approval?
Chairs arranged
with their backs like that?
Dear Tine,
Dear Cucumber—
May I brush the top
of your postal code?
Move it just a little
toward a yes or a no?
Dear BBQ,
Dear Enlightenment—
If you can tap into
my Betsy Ross
I'll drape it all across you
like skin.
Believe me,
Dear Pheromones,
Distillation makes
the purest elixir.
Around the Block
Dear Jalapeno,
Dear Cay—
I do not have a baby.
I have cilantro.
I have giant redundant
boulders of hope.
Dear Warehouse,
Dear Joint,
Dear Reef—
Time is a long time.
Will you wait,
Dear Locus?
Dear Disaster,
Move faster.
Dear Tamed Beast,
Dear Cornfield,
Dear Meat—
I misread the label.
You're not what
I ordered.