Issue 6: November 2006.
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Home > Issue 6: November 2006 > Poetry
3 poems by Arlene Ang
rest : stop
rib-
eye steak
she says : lichen
tattoos the fire hydrant : bar stool
je ne sais quoi like guns like scampi positioned on a hot plate :
dung beetles scrape the kitchen door : skyline traffic and
the detective rushing out for suicide bomber 46 : l’oeuvre d’une vie
on thumbnails : the day’s specialty deploys a siren : why enumerate
religion from fluid statics : roll down your socks if you’re
ready for war : hydrogen peroxide soughs knee scabs : further on
the czech patient rumbles in a
paper bag : she
says let’s
eat
through blinds
the omnipresent goldfish crumples its light: the would-haves
& could-haves wrap a hand around my waist: so many
dust bunnies like eyelashes on the sill & the czech scientist
an off-white color in the riverbed: all of a sudden this tango
swoop without benefit of the right leg: fax me he said
your skirt copythe one with cars & bats & death sentences
the one you said i might or might not like because we are
behind these walls imperfect fetal esplanades: the carriage
of the typewriter swings within this orbit called pluto
as if it knew exactly what it wanted out of dear letter writer:
81 in shorthand isn’t necessarily 2/4 time or a clothesline
several inches too deep into september: i wake up
to my skin every goddamn day lying to the goddamn mirror
& he positioned that crosswise on the music sheet as if
it would help me open the envelope the box of cornflakes
that long drive into gray where he disappeared in water
That time my upper lip swelled up
It was some kind of bug.
I woke up with a start, like the prescription label.
The emergency exit sign winked from the far end of the bus.
I thought it will be wanting my autograph next.
I thought if I fixed the time at 2300 hours, I wouldn’t need the pumpkin.
I thought I’ll never be English enough for umbrellas.
No one believed me, of course.
We were in the middle of high tea.
The Welsh rabbit created deeply opinionated friends.
Someone said right, you forgot to mention the talking mice.
Someone said so that’s what the Zurich trip was all about.
Someone said darling, don’t lie; I know exactly how you looked like before.
I wouldn’t be mentioning the names of allergens.
We all left each other wanting a stiff drink.
For the whole day, I watched myself on mirrors.
Is this the aquarius of silicon?
Is this the crime scene for poached eggs?
Is this Osney Island all over again without the slideshow?
I was completely into the sauce of Marilyn Monroe.
Eventually, my lip returned to its normal size.
It was a mosquito; I killed it.
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