I punk like for real. A Poem by Miriam C. Jacobs.

where them tights with the hole? this skirt

too toile. someone might think I effort,

tangle hair on purpose. no one even know

I wake up like six thirty bank account got money.

tuck it in before I get mistake.

your eyes, they tiny round and silver like eyes

one of those dolls people stick over the toilet paper way back

in the fifties before I was born you better believe

it. I seen those old, old movie. those hippie. them trailer-park

grandma face tape. I put my birt-tay right in my email.

mother fucker don’t tell me it’s semantics.

you got great big hair pony over your bald spot.

you camouflage, but I still recognize you, saggy

chin since you got marry, little soft

under arm. me, I stay single cinder-block bookcase

paint up myself, Goodwill cup, so much cooler than you.

we sit on the floor, make Kaballah and stuff.

my hip don’t hurt at all.

how about I wear little green dress linen always look wrinkle?

anyone can see I try (not), I care (not).

I forget what you even said when you came over

Jacobs recent head
MIRIAM C. JACOBS is a alumnus of the University of Chicago and teaches college writing, literature and humanities. Jacobs is the editor of Eyedrum Periodically, the art/literature journal of Eyedrum Art & Music Gallery, Atlanta. Her poetry has appeared in Jewish Literary Journal, The East Coast Literary Review, Record Magazine, The Camel Saloon, Bluestem: the Art and Literary Journal of Eastern Illinois University, The King’s English, and Oklahoma Today, among other publications. Her chapbook of poetry, The Naked Prince, was published by Fort!/Da? Books in September 2013.


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