her wail so fiery

and tender all

a sugary bird

gone hoarse

sliced by guitars

surrounded by drums

a tussle

resurrecting memories of

nails cut and painted plum

head cocked just so

aimed at who else

glossy raven bangs

brushing above

seething indigo eyes

rolling over themselves

as they do now

while this precious song is

stolen from a gorge

two decades deep

when such things

fused my soft skull together

despite ditching and driving

hitting mock-one

at residential fifty

with this song

this song whose sounds

unfurl out of

my turd-yellow Datsun

like vapor

getting tangled in

every lucky tree

this precious loot

now exploited

by some little shit

half my age

making triple my salary

who figured out

the demographics of SUVs


by Lisa Kaitz    

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