Remember those Spider-Man popsicles with the gumballs?
I wish I had one of your face so
I could chew your eyes out.
But then again, you’d be one of those cheap Fla-Vor-Ice freezer pops
in a pack of 75 sold in bulk at Sam’s Club.
They used to hand them out to us on Field Day
at Liberty Elementary School half-frozen, half-sticky sweet
liquid that choked the back of your throat
and it always rained at the end of the day.
We ate Gushers by the cyan colored pool sides
and kissed toads who turned into boys
who weren’t very good at kissing back.
I thought I could chew you into something soft
and blow you away.
But you weren’t easily impressed.
Summer’s sunblock left us cold.
You went swimming in your shorts
I went swimming in my bra
and then we went swimming in nothing at all.
But remember Fruit by the Foot shoved into our mouths
Sparklers looked like your eyes I wanted to kiss
and burn my lips.
I’ll tie myself to a bottle rocket—
say I made it to the moon and left you in a gumball machine
—only twenty-five cents.
Lucy in the Sky with Cubic Zirconia
Drench my skin in summer greens and blues cover me in red-shaded hues of sunsets I painted in art class in senior year. You sat behind me. “Will you paint one, too?” I asked you and him and her and hoped you’d find the colors in my voice. My blood type’s polychromatic kaleidoscopic.
I’m sick of these dead leaves I find in your hair. Which season was it when we stole our neighbor’s pears? (We never snuck enough to miss, just a few for me and you). In the autumn we swung from their branches. We were thieves of the trees. I want to wear the summer breeze like a Snuggie. I want to cuddle in the sunshine—I’ll hold your hand but I’m fine with the sun’s hand too. My palm feels warmer.
Spin me like a top and toss me to the fireflies. I want to taste the auburn ignition of the 1987 Porche 944 and the rainbow sprinkles in the backseat. Yellow on my tongue like lemonade. Let me mix the sugar and the water and let me drink it if it’s sour or if it’s sweet. Wonka Taffy or Warheads. I walk like an airplane down these streets. Was that you who walked with me? Was that you who laughed at my eyes? Was that you who laughed in my face when I sang a tune? Why isn’t it you who makes me smile?
When the streetlights come on I want you to smile in the stars but there’s something wrong with your mouth. It’s always turned down. It’s always turned down at me. There’s something wrong with your sparkle. Then again you never did sparklers with me on the Fourth of July. Where will you be this Fourth of July? You can go to South America, but you can’t go somewhere with different stars.
When did I let you strip me of my leaves? When did I let you see my bones without letting you feel the threat of my bark? I am not a generic cola, I’m fucking Coca-Cola Cherry Coke. I am not your Silk soy milk substitute and if I am an egg, I can’t be poured from an Egg Beater carton. I’m not Lucy in the Sky with Cubic Zirconia. You’ve got to mine through 3 tons of rock to find something golden like me.
Get to it.