See Final (NaPoWriMo #26)

Don’t think for a second he’s dead
Dental records
can be faked
masks made
force-worn
wrong men
burned
security an ill possession.

escape

I’m a Spy (NaPoWriMo #12)

They claim fraud but it’s not
I saw you cry your make-up off
still in your slippers, robe
asking your sister how to feel
when you’re married

In your heart isn’t fraud
but Jack’s clogging ventricles
bubblegum
Tom’s can’t-do attitude
absinthe, Patrón
Terry’s seven night drinks
Ben Affleck
and your husband’s refusal
to look at you

To hold séances with you
compromise on restaurants
or art
and who’s funnier:
Owen Wilson, Adam Sandler?
And who’s at fault here.
secret mission

The Curse (NaPoWriMo #9)

You thought escape easy
like the Add button

Put enough make-up on
for photo shoot
changed pajamas

This is your grave face now
not mugshot
crime scene omelette

Your husband
Jamie Oliver
whips with an open finger

Bolt cutters
can openers
acid
Christmas list
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Say I’ve Crossed A (NaPoWriMo #6)

The playback footage of five years
six ago
reminds me and I ask you
interloper
documentary documenter
if he’s changed.

You say, “I don’t know, Pam.
You all have, I guess.”
I’m trapped in pull-back moments
of what was
feel every culpable inched nerve
of almost.

Tarantino in that video shop job
each tutorial second
of must-watch
pre-empts a connoisseurial grab
and you’re ready to take now
Brian.
crossed

Not Quite Yet The Man You Need To Be (NaPoWriMo #2)

In unsafe houses, housing
twenty year friends who’d pierce
protective vests
for you
you tell her love
because vigilante trained
cult recruits
aren’t badly timed
but inconsequentiality,
men-led Bible study
breakfast youth group
at which you learn
wanking’s wrong.

The lesson her husband
teaches you
is commandment
achievement unlocked Xbox
game trade.

Until you scalp him
she’s his.
kevin

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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