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THINGS (BAGAGE) by Linette Marie Allen

is the reason—

lungs swelled

to beasts,

 

legs to the grave,

the joy of nothing

happening—I,

 

strawberries & cream

still cold

under arm,

 

flick ashes to eagles

whilst waiting

for Hassle—

 

the name we

assign our new

bus/driver.

 

Surely, she knows

no empathy for the

poet/baker,

 

is absent the reason

we bandage thumbs

with painter’s tape—

 

hideous blues

hiding upper                                        /cuts,

rejections?

 

fuck! five centos about Io

& Sappho

& Brussels

 

in the rain. In the frosting,

wet with Dione,

I came

 

to better understand

how to plot green dye

like Picasso’s Third,

 

how to lift heavy metal

and not hurt

lower back.

 

/I sneak a sip/

 

A pregnant girl rings.

Quarters whap,

I think

 

surely virgin thumbs / were made                   / for greater

Linette Marie Allen lives in the Washington DC metropolitan area. She works as a magazine editor and hosts her own podcast show for writers, Ripen the Page.

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