Since my clothes never seem to fit right
I’ll ask you four times what you think
of my sweater–but wait, let me curve
my arm first, bending it at the elbow, &
placing it on my hip. I want to be
as mannequin like as possible. I hate my lankiness.
Behind me is so much history, overturned
furniture stores, people praying for some queen
to stop being a tyrant, but the only thing that matters
to me is that my hair stay thick & not recede.
I love your wine-colored nails & how
your one eye seems to slant downward.
Tell me again about your mother’s face
after the officer clubbed it. Tell me again
how she fears going out in the sun
because she can’t discern the anger behind
sun glasses. Tell me about the four jobs
she works, one in the gym where people toss
their sweaty towels her way. Let me first
iron out this wrinkle. I press hard so that
it won’t come back.
Gianni Gaudino, is a recent graduate of Stockton University currently living, teaching, and writing in Southern New Jersey.