Tuesday, January 30, 2007

summer blonde

summer blonde

i don't work
at a card shop
but i could.
no man
buys these things
for himself.

you stand
at dairy queen
looking like
a peach
(is it your work uniform?)
while waiting for a
chicken strip basket a la mode.
i step into
the shadows,
check my gloss, and
dab a little
poisoned apple
to my lips.
they must be perfect
although you will
never kiss them
except in dirty fantasy.

2 comments:

Laura Bjerk said...

Ooohh - I love this poem. Poisoned apple. Perfect.
I'd love to meet for poetry, but this week is tough for me. I suppose your weekend is busy...?! I could plan for a night next week - A poetry session would be so refreshing.

Helen Losse said...

Hi Tiffany. It's bben awhile since I looked at your poetry. I like this one.