← v7n1, Spring 2008
Poetry · Volume 7, Number 1

Mercury

When the time comes I will lie

to you‚ pajamaed family‚

about the waitress who has scrubbed

with Arm and Hammer

the sterile urns that shine‚ clean as her food-

burnt hands. Our drinks in fat casino cups‚

I’ll drive the Mercury. Drunk I keep telling

the truth: fifteen‚ a virgin‚ yes. And she

I sway like a suicide‚ collapse into her chest.

“Harder and you’ll get a little milk‚”

she says. Of course I should know better.

I suck on her word a long time.