In the Past a Girl Named Susan

for Susan S---

A girl named Susan,
which is not so remarkable,
who told you about a song.
You can’t remember
her other name—there were
so many Susans.
She had chocolate hair and
an ass like the movement
of the spheres.
You touched her there once.
She didn’t like it and
told you so. What she didn’t
tell you was that she would
be moving on anon.
Everytime you hear that song
her face is there, a glow.
You wish now that you had her other
name. You wish you could
use it in your lab, your necromancy.

by Corey Mesler | Poetry Home | Next 

There Ain't Nothing in Chicago for a Monkey Woman to Do

She left just when it was right.
The clock handed her her last ticket.
You woke to find the house as
still as a still. Her odor
drove you out onto the lawn where
the neighbors were waiting
with their hoses and masks.
It was the morning of the day of the
long decline. You were
happy to get such an early start.

by Corey Mesler | Poetry Home | Previous