Monday, September 2, 2013

Jennifer Lagier- Three Poems

Lunar Eclipse
It’s midnight and I'm high on
chardonnay and adrenaline.
We watch night’s crawling shadow
above Half Moon Bay,
feel any sense of responsibility
being quickly erased.
You steer one-armed, tires clunking
against highway reflectors,
fingers inside each other’s clothes,
both of us igniting at sixty miles an hour
like teenage lunatics.
Tonight I want nothing more
than to slide beneath your hands
in this clockless universe,
smell love upon my skin
while ghostly hills pass.
Previously published in Curbside Review.
Sex Education in the Summer of Love

It’s a warm Central Valley night.
You are a 16 year old Italian Catholic virgin,
half undressed, wedged between bucket seats
of your boyfriend’s blue Mustang.
After months of his begging, you finally give in.
As he tears his way into you,
a drunk careens from the river bank,
peers through the windshield,
passes out on the car hood.
So this is passion,
the romantic act of becoming one
you tell yourself
despite embarrassment, pain.
Outside, the homeless bum twitches.
You wonder what happens now,
feel you’ve been cheated.
Previously published in the Rockford Review.
Moonstone Beach Bar & Grill
Chopped Harleys and Indians
create their own rules.
Jesus co-pilots the biker babe
at a neighboring table.
We sip Rosarita Margaritas,
slide the weight of traffic jams
and work-day disasters
from our tense shoulders.
Black birds beg at the feet
of burly men in slick leathers.
I envy their mounds of golden fries,
thick, greasy burgers.
Fog wipes sunlight from a sky
littered with seagulls.
Tourists shiver, discover
coastal summer is actually winter.
I explore every port,
a ship without anchor,
order a second round,
scribble truth on a napkin.
Jennifer Lagier is a central valley and coastal snake connoisseur.

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