Daydream by David Spicer

A cappella songs in Mexico City–
that’s the hipster feast that cradles
my stray catatonia. I’ll settle for
a bleached blonde with the clap and a penchant
for pasta. I wear my turban like a stray tabby,
scratch for cameos and mail-order brides.
Get me the deputy minister of syntax,
have her order a windbreaker for my albino heart,
and remember I can never be a mentor,
a daughter, or a firebrand. She could speak
with that blasting voice of a fire truck.
I’ll discard my armband of ignorance,
collect get well cards, carve spasms in the china.
Don’t heckle me. Admire this jaw line of a juvenile
in newsreels. Follow me to the pawn shop–
there I keep trashed rumors of junkets
by chained senators. I command top dollar for them
or their wheelchairs. We’ll create a splash,
invent a flurry of mathematics.
There’s a slot now, so give me that role,
will me that armory. Let the child remain.

David Spicer
David Spicer has had poems in Yellow Mama, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The Laughing Dog, In Between Hangovers, The American Poetry Review, Easy Street, Ploughshares, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, and in A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Pushcart, is the author of one full-length collection of poems and four chapbooks, and is the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.

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