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Everyone Loves a Beautiful Ironing Board

That night we decided to get real
sloppy. My thumb brushing the thick
nipple of your left breast, fat
and cylindrical and nothing like
my worn nubs.
 
We went up to the roof
to get humbled, all limbs
and fooling around, aimless
javelins careening, adulthood
as many years away as we
could imagine it. If the lines
 
are the result of grief or
early promise, those who’ve been
loving hard for a while and were
famous already own the taste
of their gin. In one photo,
a very particular scar lining the inner
forearm, marks from the staples
 
alongside. We strangers fall in
with one another while traveling. It is hot
but not unbearable. This is the part of the movie
where I ask how that other movie ends.
 
 
 

Kenzie Allen is currently a Zell Postgraduate Fellow in Poetry at the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at the University of Michigan, and a descendant of the Oneida Tribe of Indians of Wisconsin. Her work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in Sonora Review, Drunken Boat, The Iowa Review, Word Riot, Apogee, SOFTBLOW, The Puritan, and elsewhere, and she is a managing editor of the Anthropoid collective.