how to be loved


we don’t spread a blanket

beneath the oak tree

stray sticks dig into my

bare ass, sweaty thighs


you don’t ask me

does it hurt

you ask me

does it feel good

do you like it


in notebook margins

i scribble your name

or my name with your last name

big-block-bubble letters

rip petals from flowers

snap stems in half—

he cannot love me not

ask for my own phone line

i hear only busy tones

the operator:

please hang up and dial again

your friends say my mouth’s

a railroad station


we exist in the minutes

between grunts and

mom’ll be home soon

you should leave

we lie in the backyard

of a shuttered house

fumble in dirt

i wonder if you’ll love me

and all i ever think is:

if i’m lucky

if i’m lucky

if i’m lucky

Copyright © 1999-2017 Juked