poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Monday, October 20, 2008

Bellyfat

Ladies here at the public park are gossiping in the cold
about a baby at the zoo. 50 pounds, they say, and five feet.
I want to go over there and ask them what kind of animal
but I’m not brave enough and maybe they’d get mad
at me, and look, they’re walking away anyway.

Confession: I eat important words for breakfast.
For lunch I eat SPAM e-mail sandwiches full of nothing-words.
I find queer counter-politics
and runt Newfoundland puppies in the same place.

They’ve discovered a link between bellyfat and dementia.
It’s actually a plot against women. It’s another way to convince
them that they are clinically crazy and unquestionably ugly.
I think about the conclusions I have drawn this morning.
Too much coffee makes my feet sweat, even on the cold days.

I was at a bachelorette party where there were construction paper penises
on the wall and a punchbowl full of pink clit. I can’t tell
if it is snowing or if there’s just something frozen blowing off the trees.
I hope I’m not shaking too much. In some mythology
there is a river where you can drink the water
and it makes you forget everything. I’ve been there.

I will miss Chicago and all of the intentional
imaginaries. Construction paper penises
seem like a sort of kindergarten pornography. Chicago is too cold
and everyone here is confessing all the time
and everyone here has forgotten about forgiveness.

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