1
UNTITLED POEM FOR UNTITLED GIRL
I. Even so we danced
in the moldy shower
crushing soda straws
in our damp pockets,
screaming wet sex
at four thirty A M
arctic lips marching
brushed against blue steel -
sticking, seeming
eternally adhered to pocket-sized gold -
emblazoned icons of the once-virgin mother mary
II. I locked the door,
and as you sang a
baritone death sonnet
my eyes found my
grandfather's old zippo,
hidden yellow rubbish in
a poorly-stained cabinet.
I wanted to tell you
I had never fallen in love
but your boyfriend was out
buying a cheese pizza
and would soon return to find me fingering
an old brass lighter in the orange twilight.
III. I'd purify your dreams like water,
drinking red men with
walking sticks like rifles
as sagging wives moan
in the pencil factories
over nonsensical images
of death and green ocelots.
For even my fantasies
are now cockroach infested
my supper carried off
as I petition you
"stay out of the light while I spend
the ammunition of your redemption"
IV. I like being a cliche,
so run away with me
and we'll sit on cloudy
beaches watching sunsets
(as your lover sits next door
eating cold cheese pizza)
I will write you bad poetry,
listen to bad country,
writing tabulated lists
subtracting advantages
from my waistline.
Together, we could watch bombs fall
like heartbeats, as meaningful as death.
Alex C. Nielsen is poet-in-residence at the Collingwood Arts Center in Toledo, Ohio's historic Old West End. He's the kind of guy who would leave a woman pregnant overseas, probably has already, and just doesn't know it yet. Your closet is probably bigger than his entire apartment, but he's okay with that. He's currently too busy sleeping to meet women, but he's open to suggestions. He also runs Inkstained Dagger, a small broadside press with a lot of feeling. He can be reached at ISDpress@gmail.com.
