Thursday, August 29, 2013

Jennifer Lagier- Two Poems

Picked Up, Cast Down
He smiles,
slides onto the
neighboring bar stool,
buys your next round.
“Spawn of Lucifer?”
you conjecture,
observing his
black fingernails,
grim reaper tattoos,
H-A-T-E carved
across his knuckles.
“Close,” he responds,
grips your thigh
with his talons,
knocks back tequila.
gnaws an earlobe,
draws blood.
You inhale the aroma
of sulfur and brimstone,
feel bruises blooming.
He’s the one who
can make you burn,
the kind that leaves
permanent scarring.
Midlife Crisis
Its arrival coincides
with your hunger for taut boys
with empty heads and endurance,
chronic muteness,
and a nine p.m. curfew.
Computer screens and old photos
make you cry.
So does the sight
of unopened mail,
on the tile kitchen counter.
It paints your face over
so you look like your mother,
implants amnesia
in the last of your brain cells.
you are ready to run away
to Soquel or Costa Rica
with a tattooed lesbian activist
or your boss's conservative partner.
you cut your hair,
enroll in tai chi,
boost your dosage of hormones.
Jennifer Lagier is willing to buy the first round for any snakes in her vicinity, dead, alive, already stoned, or just napping.

1 comment:

  1. Jennifer Lagier may have been published widely but her work is new to me. One thing is for certain: the woman can write. It's always wonderful to encounter someone new.