Revised poem 2:
Frankie
Thank you.
Thank you for being the best tiny spoon
I know.
Thank you for fulfilling my childhood
wish
For a dog that looks like a puppy
forever
With your big, round eyes and brown
floppy ears.
Thank you for thumping a rockin' drum
solo
With your tail on the walls of your
crate
Every time I come home from school.
Thank you for telling me you have to go
outside.
Thank you for barking at all the
strange men
And warming up to my friends quickly.
Thank you for reflecting my bad moods
at me
So that I can only cheer you up by
fixing myself.
Thank you for being quiet in your
carrier
When I sneak you into the grocery
store.
Thank you for reminding me that dogs
are gross.
Thank you for shedding on every outfit
I own.
Thank you for insisting upon licking my
face
For five minutes straight with the same
tongue
You use to clean your butt and chew on
hooves
That make my whole bedroom smell like a
barn.
Thank you for rolling in raw fish right
after a bath.
Thank you for making me pull strangers'
gum out of your mouth.
Thank you for licking the inside of my
underwear
While I'm on the toilet so I have to
change or wear them wet.
Thank you for making me laugh.
Thank you for being perplexed and
scared
Of a fat earthworm, cautiously sniffing
And jumping back over and over.
Thank you for running down the stairs
On your front paws when they're too
tall for you.
Thank you for that face you make
When you're waiting to eat your dinner-
The one where your eyes go wide
And your bottom front teeth are showing
And your head tilts so far to the side
That your body goes with it,
Leaning back and to the left.
Thank you, Frankie, for waiting two months in the
shelter
And nearly two years on the street for
me to find you.
Revised Poem 6: (It's funny 'cause I gave it a Jazz structure!)
My First Time
No clinging sweat, nothing getting
Stuck In uncomfortable spots.
No breezy chills, No heat lingers.
Just music Moving our bodies.
“Rhythm is jumping- jump session!”
We pulse. We stretch. We compress. Hips
Swivel. Hands connect. Breaths syn-
Chronize. We both smile. Vision spins.
I catch a glimpse of a glint in
Your eye before a light touch moves
Me in a new unexpected
Way. My curly hair swings around
And I can see you again. I
Feel your hand on my hip and I
Follow your touch around the floor.
And I take control, pulling you
Close. Your smile broadens. “Can't be
too
Often someone does that move, huh?”
“Nope. I like moves out of the blue.”
I grinned. We spun fast as could be.
Still not sweaty above the knee.
The beat's getting a lot faster-
I could keep at this until three.
I wish I could tell someone why
Tonight is so great. But they'd look
At me funny or laugh in my
Face. But believe me when I say
This because it's totally true:
There's nothing quite like your first
Swing
Dance in moisture-wicking panties.
Blackout Poem:
Assigned Phrases Poem: (alone with the desert, out of the
boathouse, into the hardened snow, a combination of everything,
precise arrangement, warning for years)
Wouldn't Have Expected This Warning for
Years
Something tells me you're the kind of
guy
Who would be ditched by an ex-fiance
For some time alone with the desert.
Twice.
You know,
The kind of guy who would walk
Down to the lake arm in arm
With his mother on her birthday
To be greeted by a boogle of hungry
weasels
And a stench wafting out of the
boathouse
From the birds he forgot to feed for so
long
That nobody would know to teach him
The difference between doves and
Central Park pigeons.
And then one poor orphaned weasel
Would break off from the boogle
And scamper squeaking after your mother
Until a fall hurled her into the
hardened snow,
Drawn by its family's scent in her fur
coat,
And the result of its claws and jaws
Would render it a pink mink.
Yeah.
You're a fucking disaster.
And you would have had me fooled
Had I neglected to notice
A combination of everything
From the shining white smiles
Gleaming above the tailored suit
You wore on our first date
To the precise arrangement of red
Rose petals on a new white comforter
When I hadn't given you my apartment
key.
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