⇦ Essays | Library Poem, March 25, 2022
in the library driveway—
the library whose sexuality section, paltry, contains only anodyne pride titles
that do soothe, but next to them are shelved such charmers nonetheless as
The Surrendered Wife and First, Kill All the Marriage Counselors...
abandoned, and warped by old water
(as it's two weeks at least since our latest rain),
and criss-crossed by dusty tire-tracks
where the wind of passing pickup trucks bullied it to leap from gutter to road,
lies flattened the reamed-out packaging,
plastic insert tray nowhere to be seen,
of a bubblette of pleasure, a
grasping toward a good time, a
1.3-inch metal and silicone
Master Series "Dark Invader"