Miami (NaPoWriMo #1)

I’ll turn my hand to
anything.
Veterinary college, marriage,
Coco Pop cake baking.
The ring
is a nail’s width,
slides, so the underside
of my hand’s scratched.
One month
a handful of teeth
courtside seats
and the American dream:
stage Mom,
pension by your forties.

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Courtside

I will watch you on my smart phone screen, crisp as our marriage-day, contemplate the online posting of you, scooping as much of each hair and limb in the shot as possible.

You. I knew you before that patio party and the thirty day courtship won’t seem much to each magazine subscriber but when you recipe-perfect something, that is it, and any hater hasn’t the spell-concoction we have.

Once, I spat two day gum at my bedroom ceiling, and saliva fell first, to drench, stick. Now, you polythene coat me, lips and then legs. And my insides next.

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