HEAVY LIKE A FIRST DAY PERIOD
—Janet Jackson
And then it comes,
rinsing the stars from the sky
while you’re stuck weeping floors
and she’s
found something unnameable
at the end of a crayon.
Thirteen dumbbell curls
during Roman Holiday.
“Who likes communist poetry, anyway?”
he asks, earnest enough.
“I dunno,” says she,
nibbling the pure end of the crayon,
“but it has to be fun somewhere,
right?”
“I’m not in this
for the money,”
says the relaxed pelican.
Dr. “Liver” Akagi
sprinting down a dirt path
in his white suit
and boater hat.
And then I bought a tiny box
in a small wood
and spent the rest of my days
trying to find a way inside of it.
