I need one cow to
trade for magic beans. Replace the dress with ink stains and
offer rain to the flowers.
He is two things and
I am wrists crossed with transparencies. Promise the
flowers rain for months and never follow through.
I want three of your fingers on
the dashboard so I can smash them with this book. Your
concept of hope is smaller than my understanding of
physics, and the problem is that I can’t see you.
If four magic beans
make one hundred and four miles of stalk, how many beans
do I need to get home? I don’t think I have enough cows,
and I’m trying to peel a potato with a potato.
This happens five times
faster if the wingspan is longer and the petals dry more
quietly.
I give it six more
seconds, but he always comes after two. Tomorrow the
flowers will realise that you’re not giving them rain. The
crippling disappointment will be almost instantly forgotten
to infatuation.
I sent seven poems and you
didn’t read them. If you feel you are not properly sedated,
leave your goddamn money in the bank, asshole.
I prepare eight different
rucksacks for the climb home. Each contains supplies for a
different kind of journey.
thick socks
furs
instant hot cocoa
Alaskan Malamute
cargo pants
ultra strength insect repellent
walnuts
acrylic butterfly cases
bikini top
sand shoes
Australian flag towel
mimosas
neon face paint
cut-off shorts
vodka in a water bottle
rape whistle
a boat
cork hat
camel
boom box
cactus trimmer
nerve gas
theatre glue
utility belt
vengeance
fee
fie
foe
fum
There are nine people who
aren’t related to me that I would like to invite to my
birthday party. The party planner thought it was a joke. In
response, I show her how to perform taxidermy on a crow.
She says, peeling that potato would be way easier with a
potato peeler, and she hands me another potato.
Alora B. Young