Sliding down the Popsicle pole
At the end of our street, where Main meets Rose
Limp chapped hands just won’t let go
Nails stand shredded by Winter’s spit
Sequins in light, sleeves like a dragonfly’s
Electric-veined wings, reproached
To think that retro does not look so
When indeed, it’s Mom’s old thigh-high prom dress
Maybelline Sparkle, fluorescent white lights
We see on reindeer, glued in the grass
Brows carved hard on a plate of smooth flour
Hardened and vexed as cars go by
Diffident doll, poised as a geisha
Though urban with a taste of caviar
Makeshift highlights, phlegmatic coughs
She lives illuminated, but walks alone
Waiting for someone; where’s your sign?
How long did it take to know what you want?
Knives on your heels, how you must live
Discipline thick, our sweet curdled milk
Comfortable love. You so sure?
Strength’s a mosaic so calmly perturbed
Disappointed, it seems you recede once more
By the Popsicle pole, you fit