Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Tea House

the freakiest café
you would, freak
but it’s mild
like a dream,
townies, loose
leaf tea called
day dream and

simple foods


as a spy collecting
kisses for my belt
notes on bodies, notes
on my future as a teen
boobs, obviously, a car
an attitude
a tan
not two weeks but eight
DTS*, mad friends

desperate to be Harriet (the spy)
charming in baggy clothes,
keen on simple foods and cats,
vulnerable wrists in a wheel pose on the bed
and the way the pencil lead
made my mouth water

and so the lackluster versions
of south Jersey, of my

            kiss! kiss!
            we’d beg our parents

just a little spark?

feeling hopelessly young
in my belt at the picnic table

at dawn, wait for my mom
for her bike along the rocks

until 7 am,
as if suicide might just happen to me

*Down the Shore