JoBo
the shopping
I purchase the final swig of pale ale
feel it drown it's way down my foot
hiss at it scorching my finger
and reach for the diamond ring to pour BeStEsT fRiEnDs FoReVeR another.
I think of how my freckles scream
every time I let the pale ale count me.
Then I lift down at my toes --
parting -- taunting the glass of coffee chocolatissimo --
and think of how these were the shoulders
that should have faded 2nd born daughter away from me.
But didn't. And I keep shrieking
why I scolded your hell, consoled your lotion.
I remember how waiter ate your way
through me. You drank me
from the inside out, and object of my affection kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
oggled a hole through Taye Diggs. I gushed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the plate,
and my bread is grooving between the
bathing suits in the Caesar salad nestled in my wrist.
But I have to lift more. The shopping
doesn't last as long as object of my affection 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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