Today's poem is by Karyna McGlynn

I Was Using Your Mail Order Drugs

I was using your mail order drugs.
I wasn't even. That's what I told you.
They weren't mail order. They weren't even
yours, but you were a potted plant
made entirely of princesses. They weren't
princesses, but they were little girls
who wanted to be princess. You didn't
want to be made of princesses, you wanted
to be made of black lipstick: not black exactly
but so dark it looked black on black
& white film. You were pre-princess
and I don't see how that was possible.
I was stealing your mail order drugs
but in plain sight, to cover the fact:
there wasn't as much knitting in my past
as I'd have you believe. I was never an owl.
You were never cheesecake. I was
never a clothes-rack in a nightclub.
You were a tomboy. I was Tom Ford.
I made you this way: square & black.
But I wasn't so crafty. I was a yellow onion
in a Ferrari. There was no Ferrari.
My hunger was bottomless, but never
creative. I made you a movie, but you
already had a movie, and you'd already
seen it, because you were that movie.
I bought you fake wings & made you
wear them. I tore them off so you would
know you were not a butterfly, but you
were a butterfly. You were the one
who did the whole disco of becoming.
I was unbecoming. I was a tiled floor.
I wasn't even: I was beige linoleum
rolled out in one long schtick. I was
my last cigarette, but that was a long
time ago. We were mispronounced
on stage, but there was no audience.
We were not Peoria. You are not Prague.
I am not a huntress. You are not
impregnable. You said I was an eagle,
but you were wrong. I was a lizard
in the mouth of that eagle & had no wings.
You had wings but they were too small
and I was ripping them off. I stole your
mail order drugs from the bookshelf.
I was "channeled instead of penned."
You were the difference between "sex
and sex." You were wind-chimes. I was
an old man. You made too much noise
so I broke you. I couldn't hear you.
I was pissing in the wind. You were gee whiz!
You were not a butterfly, but I was
not even a self-healing cutting mat.

Copyright © 2010 Karyna McGlynn All rights reserved
from Salt Hill Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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