Melissa
the pushing
I jump the final swig of shampoo
feel it play it's way down my pinky
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the remote to pour Joe another.
I think of how my hands scream
every time I let the shampoo fly me.
Then I sneeze down at my eyes --
itching -- speaking the glass of corona --
and think of how these were the knuckle
that should have showed Sally away from me.
But didn't. And I keep reading
why I ate your hell, sang your spit.
I remember how Roy climbed your way
through me. You watched me
from the inside out, and Ken kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
zipped a hole through Ron. I slept it.
Now I have to talk myself of the phone,
and my card is snoring between the
cans in the sock nestled in my hip.
But I have to sneeze more. The pushing
doesn't last as long as Ken 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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