Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Nightshift as a Waitress: When the Regular Arrives

Sweet thing, I’ve strapped
my hands to flags
to wave you over

and my thighs are so pale
and free. I sucked on twenty
lemons to pucker

my mouth shut, yet I’ll whistle
you the proper
order: powdered

sugar on the flapjacks,
coffee that kicks like a bull
without some salt.

You don’t need
to know about my half-
wants, or how the neon

Open sign sparks and chars
the hair on my wrists.
All you know is

I look like milk in the dark,
and you have minutes left
to get me to wail the best blues

of our weekly undoing.  end  

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