Gina Barnard
Three poems
ALBA
Nudge my nose just under
your ear, sometimes we slather
too much praise, like mayonnaise.
After tea, the bed is still warm
with you, mayonnaise.
ELEGY
You eat a sweet potato so fast your chest fills with cement and you hiccup to catch your breath.
FIRE ANT
dug its head into the back of my thigh
sliding down
stairs in the bedroom, the old house.
*
A pinch--
a yearning.
An international literary journal from 1984 to 2018, Verse now administers the Tomaž Šalamun Prize.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Monday, March 04, 2013
NEW! Poem by Jess Novak
Jess Novak
IN PICTURES, EVEN THE WALLPAPER GLOWS
IN PICTURES, EVEN THE WALLPAPER GLOWS
I’ve been talking to this girl online—Jack calls her
Internet Crush Katie, but she’ll be Real Human Being Katie
soon enough, & that’ll fuck
everything right up.
In the smartphone pictures she sends me,
her breasts burn white, overexposed and chewable;
like a model in a Bacardi ad, she throws
her head back, perpetually laughing,
surrounded by girls, more girls, so many girls,
girls who are all
just my imaginary type, girls who flaunt
cool band t-shirts & expensive haircuts,
girls who might text me cute things:
let’s watch ice cubes melt
or let’s poke bugs with sticks together.
Girls who wouldn’t ask why the porn I watch
is so weird or call my mom when they haven’t heard
from me. I bet they wouldn’t still be friends with all my old friends
so I don’t get to see them. They would never remember
to tuck in the sheets.