Monday, August 28, 2006

The Poet

When he says vulnerable, I bite my tongue and imagine
being pinned under a bull, rider going AWOL or
a monkey dancing in a costume. I laugh out loud.
Vulnerable.

When he says vulnerable, I think of vegetable oil
over wilted lettuce. My legs on either side of a table
and July bearing down on me until little mums
smile from either side of my cavity.

When he says vulnerable, I think I’ll stay awhile.
This should be good. I think of the other girls.
Were they vulnerable? Under the table, the fork
in my ankle – and smile for the camera, girl.

When he says vulnerable, I hate him like rotting
fish hate newspaper. Like the Olsen twins hate each other.
Like rodeo riders and ménage-a-summers –
His costumed monkey dance.

3 Comments:

Blogger J. Vincent said...

Awesome, full of ambivalence...

11:04 AM  
Blogger aleah said...

Thanks, J. Vincent. Come back when you can.

Cheers.

11:08 AM  
Blogger Sarah Louise Parry said...

Beautiful use of similie esp this part: "Like the Olsen twins hate each other" love the combination of modern culture interspersed with retro nature reference.

A wonderful cocktail of creation here.

3:40 AM  

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