| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Erin Reardon has been described by (local poetry legend) Winston Jones as “Emily Dickinson….without all that weeping all over the page.” She writes poems, drinks copious amounts of alcohol and is a die-hard Red Sox fan. She has been published at Hecale, Silenced Press, The Neo-Lampshadian Outpost as well as Stone Soup Spoonful Quarterly magazine. She has featured at Stone Soup and can be spotted there as well as at the Cantab and Lizard Lounge all located in Cambridge, Massachusetts that is when she’s not slugging back two dollar pints at the Sligo or J.J. Foley’s and making fun of you. |
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| © 2008 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| Green |
| by Erin Reardon |
| Caught between a green dream
And a tall glass of ice queen Picturing you In her convoluted brain syrup You came on strong A cologne punch Kicked her nostril to the floor Scattering brain cells like peanut shells You injected her With some kind of rohypnotize She couldn’t move From the neck Up But those legs still kicking out a can-can Baby blue lies Thunder thighs She was pretty Seventeen Breaking even at twenty-three Oh, but what did you care While you sliced her up with sarcasm And a carbonated smile Plop fizz What a relief it isn’t! Seeing you swagger stiffly home Leaving no trail of breadcrumbs to lick As she lags behind Punchy and dizzy She admired you At first from afar Astonished you ever said hello Or how dazzling she looked In her new green jeans It always comes back to green Bile churn burn! Hellified mint lollipop Surprise! She imagines your kissing face Puckered As if you’d had her before That silly redheaded whore Why the daddy complex all of a sudden? She whips her hair across your face One ironic fuck slap after another They always said be careful When you tear that wishbone out Or blow the eyelash from his cheek That’s for the meek, not the wicked And wicked was your smile In fifteen seconds That was the mile she took When she pulled your inchworm tighter Dangled you from a silk line Thinking one day you’d grow into a caterpillar So green Always comes back to green Even peapods split apart Eventually She still dreams She sees you on the street Gives a tickle to her belt buckle That sour cherry never ripens Only spits out his seed Forever dancing On that tongue of destiny So green. |
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| July 2008 |
| 108 |