a body in motion
A woman a girl a good student a mediocre poet a skater with no brakes I took them off in 5th grade and have been rolling downhill ever since increasing speed approaching the intersection I hope I can slide by between the bumpers with just a bruise colored of plum or pickled onion ah,
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A pickled onion — purplish and loud like an angry child.
A chick a bitch a mediocre poet I have one poem memorized “A Daughter of Eve” a fool a fool a fool an angry child a crier a highly sensitive person a doubter a dreamer with no agency a sitter and a smoker a player and a tie-er, shaking hands with opposition for I’ve yet to beat it fair and square my keeper is a sloth my striker an excitable fool who shoots right when she should shoot left and screams at the referee because misery is a lonely sport but who should know if it’s played alone?
