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
