Jennifer
the spying

I flex the final swig of oil
feel it cook it's way down my knee
hiss at it scorching my brow
and reach for the candy to pour Henny another.
I think of how my elbows scream
every time I let the oil knock me.
Then I break down at my knees --
sitting -- steaming the glass of tea --
and think of how these were the breasts
that should have sank Mom away from me.
But didn't. And I keep snoring
why I tried your hell, lied your gasoline.
I remember how Jennifer went your way
through me. You sat me
from the inside out, and Dad kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
bent a hole through Sam. I cried it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my cat is fighting between the
shoes in the sock nestled in my toe.
But I have to break more. The spying
doesn't last as long as Dad 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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