Our neighborhood song birds have tried
every way to get sober, men in the trees
doing currency, this many fingers go
to a monthly storage unit. Even I know
you guys will be open to something today.
1973 Apple Orchard
with White Tail rims
Brand new Meteor Shower
with Happy Ending
Everything in my Meat
Freezer’s got to go. You guys’ cars’ noses
nuzzling each other, establishing
boundaries. This is several generations
of mimosa enablement, cigarette trees no one bothered
to prune, late blooming aneurysm and star
of Bethlehem when some woman someone used
to know planted her feet. I know everybody
has different names for these. Sweetheart Straps
are just Bitch Seat Accessories. Fifteen is kind
of a suggestion. I will spend everything I have
if it means I have something. You guys know
what it means when I get fired.
You are crouching in pink camo, this is not what I wanted
to be split down the middle. I was thinking artificial
voice was a bonding mechanism. Whose baby are we thinking
we left out there, to remain outside, a learned skill
getting slightly darker on its belly. Migration is thinking
of any gendered child saying their good mornings.
You need some repetition and a little ground cover.
You need to do more than measure the hinges.
Sometimes this pole barn gets so full of detriment that I think
all my crafting days are over. I teach the animal not
to look like anyone else in this family. I watch for planes that might
have enough room for us. The smell of laundry when someone loses
their voice long enough; this is all I am saying. I watch that feather
settle down, the one beneath it still angling.
Dorky birth has a razor scooter young
enough to be your cargo; this is beer
you share with neighbors while this is less forgivable
criminal activity. Briefly we are used
to pumping water and later
in the evening looking for whoever’s daughter
slipped a track outside of the money.
God bless you for shingling
the money with something waterproof
the girl with studded pleather
the activity with a constellation
of older women with houses they need
to rebuild themselves. A larger kid who is riding
his sister’s silver tasseled bicycle thanks
gravity, thanks everybody who kept an eye
on the grass while it mended.
JEN TYNES is the founding editor of Horse Less Press. She is the author of two full-length books, The End Of Rude Handles (Red Morning Press) and Heron/Girlfriend (Coconut Books), and the author or co-author of about a dozen chapbooks, most recently Here’s the Deal (Little Red Leaves Textile Series) and New Pink Nudibranch (Shirt Pocket Press). Her third full-length book, Trick Rider, is forthcoming this spring from Trembling Pillow Press.