Today's poem is by Chessy Normile
Climb On Top of It
I feel tiny like a crab apple.
It makes me want to offer myself
to someone from the city
and surprise them by being hard and sour.
When I was a girl there was this one nightmare
so loud that it'd continue to sound itself
in the room after I'd opened my eyes.
I am the only cop in this bar.
Miranda knows, but no one else.
Later, I'll let you pick me up like a boomerang. Literally
I will bend at the waist, you can use only one hand.
You will throw me away from you and think you get the game,
but I will straighten out mid-flight and keep going, joke's on you, asshole.
It is always good to lie here
and tell the truth to a girl.
I isolate myself
because I guess I have to
and I love it, but it hurts me
because I guess it has to.
When I get to the top of this house
I am going to be so proud of myself
I am not even wearing the special belt
that makes this climb a game.
Free-balling, scaling, so proud,
because there is no one else here
and usually I am just cool for an audience.
I understand nothing.
I mean it. I have had enough.
Somebody call me a cab.
George, fetch the parcels.
Kurt, the magazines.
Copyright © 2016 Chessy Normile All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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