how to get over (senior to freshman)
pick the big bitch:
the chick who look like
she chew screwdrivers.
hunched at the lunch table copying homework,
shredding syllables with a mouthful of metal.
shush the rebel
in your throat, that ghost of punk funking
dark circles in the pits of your polo.
resist the impulse to shittalk your way
through ranch dressing and lunchroom throng.
bumrush: snatch
song from her ears, tangle of headphone
wires and tracks of mangled weave.
nevermind uglying her face
with nails or an armful of bangles.
she already a jigsaw puzzle
of scratch and scar, every exposed part
caked in vaseline. every fold of fat
fortified with that free-free — french fries,
chickenshit shaped like tenders, cheese sticks.
she will slip’n slide you
if you don’t come correct.
pick you up by your bookbag
till you feel fly, camera phone red eyes
winking your punkass almost famous.
but that ain’t your fame to claim.
pitbull her ankles till she drop,
till ketchup and corn splatter,
scatter abstract like technique
from our 5th period art class.
as she knuckles herself up
from chickenfeed, ain’t no need to run.
instead smile for the video,
that soul-clap in your chest
is your heart.
Source: Poetry (April 2015)