Plano, Texas
We walk through a trailer park,
the heat piping our pocket openings,
garment edges, and seams
characterized in Western wear.
We trip on nauseating waves of feverous air
by combining elements of jazz, blues, and soul.
In each screen door, we shout "Toasty!" in a flushy
falsetto: an impure matter that forms or rises.
Just two of us, we are both parching
in a variety of sizes. In a pulsing
language, I barely know.
Season us with herbs and spices
in this scummy air
because nothing says “home”
like warm-from-the-oven
desserts and breads.
The kids are full of carmine inks,
a deep red, among the flowers—
even the little stewing ones—
and the sticky paint, routinely added to
food products.
Bring towels for our removal method
just as clammy
as the first time,
but I could never leave this place.
We walk through a trailer park,
the heat piping our pocket openings,
garment edges, and seams
characterized in Western wear.
We trip on nauseating waves of feverous air
by combining elements of jazz, blues, and soul.
In each screen door, we shout "Toasty!" in a flushy
falsetto: an impure matter that forms or rises.
Just two of us, we are both parching
in a variety of sizes. In a pulsing
language, I barely know.
Season us with herbs and spices
in this scummy air
because nothing says “home”
like warm-from-the-oven
desserts and breads.
The kids are full of carmine inks,
a deep red, among the flowers—
even the little stewing ones—
and the sticky paint, routinely added to
food products.
Bring towels for our removal method
just as clammy
as the first time,
but I could never leave this place.
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