buckle and breathe
my knees
I don’t know Pa
I don’t know Pa
buckle and breathe
b u c k l e and breathe
what is that pain
below the hip bone
above the knees
in the center
of what used to please
A cacophony of arms and legs
Extending extending extending
Balanced on the neck is an empty
Transposable space
Conjuring dreams in syncopated rhythm
My fantasies are in scat time
Gin made me want to kiss you
While you were on the couch
Give a drum roll for the messenger
Despite his e flat annunciation
My toes tapped to the rhythm
The rhythm of the scat in my head
Oh, mama, make that jazz stop!
Oh, mama!
The fantasies hurl and burl
Electrify the strings of my corpse.
Make it stop, mama!
Twist until my hips fall off
And my joints ache and my sockets moan with the howl of the wolf
The bluueeeeessss,
mama,
the blues.
—Katie McCarthy, when not writing, likes to spend her time petting other people’s pets on the streets.
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