Georgia Tell's Blog, page 10

Poem #742

the fat man has an eating disorder
late at night when no one else is awake
he takes a box of ice cream cones
a Dreyer’s slow-churned vanilla quart
he eats: 1, 2, 3
he pauses for a minute, he should stop
but the ice cream is going to melt
and he can’t keep his hands from moving
he eats: 4, 5, 6
sick and too full, he passes out

the next day: less than 1,000 calories
two weeks: less than 1,000 calories
he says,
“I can’t give myself an inch”
he’ll take a mile
8 lbs lost
he’s smiling and feeling...

Poem #741 – to my future child

we’re gonna eat green beans and gummy bears
splash in the watery mud after a rain
bundle up for a 20 hour drive to Alaska

I’m gonna tell you how electricity works
the reasons why a budget is necessary
the purpose of air bags and brakes

you’re gonna tell me why you like purple
about the ghost you saw in the middle of the night
how a kid in your class is always talking

we’re gonna giggle while we climb the tree in the yard
argue about the choice of your sock colors
scream as the roller coaste...

Poem #740

we started clubs
to feel like we were a part of something
we wanted to be liked
to feel like our contributions of existence were worthwhile
we excluded others
to feel like we were valuable

Poem #739

spam thinks I’m a man
no, I will not get hard after clicking on that link
no, I do not want a Russian bride
no, I do not need a tiny pill to make me smarter

Poem #738

backlit office supplies
getting lost for hours
among the potentials

Poem #737

dying girl holds her stomach
complains of the pains
cat continues to lick himself

Poem #736

we play the pretend game
you pretend
and I pretend not to know you’re pretending
never acknowledging the winner

Poem #735

lesbians scream
it is a fact — well-known — that dead mice are shriek-worthy creatures that should be handled with the utmost care, especially when shaking them free from the predatory jaws of a teenage kitten only to fall on a foot, after splitting a lip reaching under the table for said kitten

Poem #734

cockroach caught
in the widow’s web
never chomped
a senseless death

Poem #733

she lives in the woods
you wouldn’t think so
seeing her in the suit
but when the clock strikes five,
she is wild.

her hair golden among the green
a forest nymph or perhaps a fox
she runs barefooted
the ground is hard,
but her feet are harder.

the air is cold and it burns her throat
the cold electrifies her
she screams with life
until late in the night,
she lies among the dirt and leaves.

before the sun is up
she is up
she washes in the stream
donning her suit once again,
she is society.