Monday, March 4, 2013

With Boots

on, I stand four inches taller.

Five-foot-seven in black

leather, knee high. I am spike-heeled,

armed for battle

against the mundane, mediocre, middle-aged

moms in flats and leggings. Tunic

tops shield view of asses

with the appearance of potatoes

stuffed in panties, dimples for which

cottage cheese (even large curd)

is still an insufficient metaphor. Miles

of road and treadmill in my wake,

I praise every defined muscle

two births left intact.

To Cum or Not To Cum

is not an option. On the table

is not a choice, but something

better left to chance and momentum. Hard

luck is a prophecy, self-fulfilled.

Intrusion, a welcome stranger,

master of impromptu movement.

Sudden, temporary fetish follows lack

of logic. Riding meaningless waves

of echolalic patterns.

My departure confirms your arrival.

Independence Day

It’s my body, but go ahead,

get off in it. You’re entitled to

nothing less. After all it’s your day

without work. And you’re horny. Never

mind that my stomach is killing me and the kids

are awake and I have a million

things to do. You wouldn’t

know what goes on between 6 and 8 a.m.

here. There is not a moment that I own.

I want to be a means to your end, really I do.

You say you will take a second

to my writing and my workout,

neither of which is an option

right now. But please,

throw a tantrum. Stomp your feet.

Whine some more. I am used to dealing

with children. They can’t delay gratification

either. My coffee is burnt, my stomach

still hurts, and I have to make a dessert

for a party I don’t want to attend.

Obligation is mymiddlefuckingname.

I’ll be okay.

Tweeting Christ

Lost my faith don’t believe in miracles



please Retweet if you give a fuck

April Salzano

April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania and is working on her first (several) poetry collections and an autobiographical work on raising a child with Autism. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspiration, The Rainbow Rose and other online and print journals and is forthcoming in Poetry Quarterly and Bluestem.

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...