Didn’t die for my country:
Would it help if I were more Hispanic?
Seems we’re all supposed to hate trumps;
Should I need to be more trytophannic?
Mad at me, mad at you—
Not the least bit “Chosen”.
Forget you, it’s not about me:
How long has your heart been frozen?
Find a way inside.
Do you still sleep alone?
Is there room by your side?
So many “fat-is-cool” shows,
And the stars’ car’s windows are all blacked out.
Define for me small-n Normal.
All cogent sides seem to have little doubt.
And a lady goes to Mexico;
Fishheads mingle in the sweet surreal.
Wanna live next to some boiled crawfish:
Why sucha big freaking’ deal?
You can have me with a dance at the Columns
Or a double oyster dressed from Domilise’s.
Let’s zydeco across lawn at Cyprimont Point.
You’re so pretty, so say all your nieces!
Posted on July 12, 2017, in Poem and tagged "fat-is-cool", blacked-out windows, Chosen, cold love, crawfish, Cyprimont Point, Domilise's, Fishheads, Gulf of Mexico, Hispanic, lonelioness, Louisiana, love, love labor, Mexico, New Orleans, Normal, surreal, Trump, tryptophan. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.