It’s that time of year
And since I’m on my own,
I’ll buy myself chocolate
And watch Netflix alone.
Provocative: i.e. Guns Kill People
The soft tanned hump
Cut by a thin strip of black fabric
Peeks out from under a tank top.
The strap trails down under the shirt.
Suggestive. Accidental or a set-up?
He doesn’t know, but he assumes.
He assumes wrong.
Pale thin legs stretch up and up
Until the denim cuts them off
Just across the thigh under the bouncing cheeks.
It draws his eye as if words were scrawled there.
His sister wears words there sometimes,
Not that he looked or anything.
A cocktail dress clings to the curves,
Every smooth transition highlighted.
He gets lost in the hills and valleys
With eyes that devour,
That burn through like the ends of cigarettes.
He assumes that’s love.
He’s wrong.
Slashing Skin
Collected behind the frosty glass
Frozen snippets of the past.
Pick one up and hold it tight.
Climb inside it for the night.
Pop the pills. Embrace the pain.
Keep the memories. What’s to gain?
One by one they start to fall
Clearing space along the wall.
One by one they all escape
Curling up and losing shape.
One by one you let them go
These people that you used to know.
The Student: The Machine
When industrious is complimentary
When standardized is the norm
When sitting for hours is common
When writing in perfect form
Students merge with technology
The goal: a perfect machine
Learning to be the same
Where anything else is obscene
Public education
Only one talent’s correct
Grades over innovation
Public school’s main defect