- PRE-INTERIM SUSPENSION
boy, you’ve got a silhouette no one else wants
& you’ve got the kind of hips men midnight-snack
on & baby, you’ve got gun arms & chapped hands
& girl, you’ve got that swig/sip down & hey,
kid, where are you running to? there’s no bike trail
or ocean far away enough for you to body through
& still be able to come back & you’ve got the kind
of small wrists some people will look at & dream
into cuffs & you’ve still got enough ability to pedal
through a whining night & girl, you’re gonna hafta
work on your boy-walk if you want to make it out
of this undertow with your full jaw unbroken, ok?
baby, close your eyes when you’re pumping iron.
don’t let them see you falter when you choose
what kind of grip/stance to take. boykid/babygirl,
you’ve got cheekbones like a movie scene, like
the Eiffel Tower crumbles into where your lap
just was & now the whole world knows why
the bad-mouth taste felt almost reunion-like.
- POST-INTERIM SUSPENSION
kid, i think the only way to get them
to stop chasing you
is to let yourself / get caught