Karen Greenbaum-Maya

Two

Sidewalks eat knees, heel of hands.

I try to land softer

but I’m no rider, no driver.

I’m diver, hostage, carried too fast.

 

Pull yourself together        straighten up         ride right,

find music for those two hundred muscles,

the tune everyone else dances to,

shimmering along

on two wheels’ shifting tangent to the sidewalk.

 

Babysitter runs along behind.

She grabs the book rack

giving me another good push,

gabbling pointless advice crazy as a fever dream,

 

but I am elsewhere,

waiting for magic unbiddable as orgasm,

I fall and mount, fall and wait.

 

 

 

 

 

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ISSUE 91
Imaginary
Numbers

 

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