846

 mostly i remember 

the colonial brick color of my loft bed

awkwardly juxtaposed with a caribbean blue

it was a cocoon-like year 
a blank time out of necessity 
i cooked thin cheap steaks 
in non-stick pans
broke up and got back together 

with a boring boyfriend
and of course stood in front
of what felt to me like
various packs of wolves 
for seven hours a day
spent and numb by the end
it was a missed opportunity 
of sorts
to come back together 
to have a drifting time 
the future laid bare
but
being scared of open spaces 
i’d signed my waking hours away
to something much beyond my scope
a pity i wasn’t more in the slow lane
a shame i didn’t take on more 
kitten feeding duties

Body Scan

My god, fidget spinners were only just moments ago,

what if they had really taken off,

perhaps the only strain of things that are suddenly here

that I would gladly spill out my consent for

and not the rest of the bored and boring weasels

who can't quite compute they'll be dead and dust

or at one with the spores like the rest of us.

Undressing Billy Collins

 For Emily Dickinson 

The suit is Italian, tailored 

by the fine hands of a man

who’s known the bodies

of so many men 

Seen shoulders stoop

chests shrink, bellies swelling

all without judgment

in his tape measure confessional

Besides, it means more work

Charcoal, double-breasted

paid for with support

from the National Endowment for the Arts

the jacket is now neatly folded

on the edge of the bed

I have no trouble with the knot

of the tie, the belt unbuckling

buttons up and down to the fly

I’ve done it all before for more

age-appropriate encounters

We’re in White Plains, NY

The day so still you can hear

the money growing on the trees

outside. Enough to just

reach out and pluck a bill

One for each poem

Fold them into the pockets 

of the pants now pooled 

around his hairless ankles

The skin surprises me:

not long for this world

pale parchment 

wordless punctuation 

good for one last binding

As the silk underwear 

slides to the floor

at last

I'm reminded of a haiku

he wrote once

in apparent self-pity

Something about 

a sushi counter 

no one for company but

a limp, lifeless eel