An American Poem
       

I dreamed Eileen Myles told me I was dressing too sexy. She said all my tops
were transparent and I was distracting the men from their work.

Then a hurricane came and we were in the greenhouse area of a Walmart,
waiting for my mother to choose a planter of purple flowers. The storm was
coming and we (me, the cashier, my mother, Eileen Myles, and two ladies in line
behind us) were all going to drown in a tidal surge.

My mother wouldn't choose. No one was impatient. We all behaved like what
we were: tiny little workers without power.

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Copyright © 2017 Krystal Languell All rights reserved
from Gray Market
1913 Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission