Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

This poem appears in We Were Hateful People.

the supermarket hum follows me home
it is a tough season for produce

inside there is nothing but empty space
to be filled with furniture and lonelineſs


orgasms reach god faster than prayer
scalpels don't rip  birds don't sing

I am beset by wood inspired plank flooring
my head spins because of the variety of veg


my father gives me knives but fails
to ask for payment  for he is a mute

and yet it is how men make love  with words
it is with this we'll start the test of taking


my head spins  boys by the hour for rent
run up to me  hasheesh all you can eat

what's my hourly rate  daddy
(they want others to struggle like they struggle


i ignore them  instead I dip deep the tip
of my roast beef  it's too late in the day

does the basic dial remind you of good times
does the running machine leak electric onto the track


i get brought down by a girl with a beautiful frown
she puts it in the monster's maw

she leads it out to the mountain
and delivers it there without a word