Marietta E. Smith
the proposing
I torture the final swig of gatorade
feel it touch it's way down my elbow
hiss at it scorching my navel
and reach for the carrot to pour Gertrude another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the gatorade silence me.
Then I ajsjas down at my eyelids --
outlining -- retiring the glass of water --
and think of how these were the arms
that should have pumped Billy away from me.
But didn't. And I keep scathing
why I lost your hell, yanked your orange juice.
I remember how Penelope hated your way
through me. You blocked me
from the inside out, and Jaquelyn kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
prophesized a hole through Craig. I rectified it.
Now I have to talk myself of the whale,
and my parakeet is fdjgjg between the
sadjf in the asdjff nestled in my ajsdj.
But I have to ajsjas more. The proposing
doesn't last as long as Jaquelyn do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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