Ask me how many times

Ask me how many times
I looked up
how to make a poem

I have an old recipe book
that smells of soiled cloth
and dairy
An apron that has holes
for my tits

Recipe: it tells me to make frosting
out of torn up clothes
and clumpy mascara goo

Each time I gather
enough glass from the shelves
Cup them to your skin,
the book says, a greedy smile.

I always get half way
The part where I have to singe
my hand on the stove

I dip one finger in at a time
into boiling water
You have to test it,
every good cook knows

I tried a line the other day
I’m love sick I said,
I’ll see you all in a week

There is no vacation time
for it
I had to ask my podiatrist
Little do you know,

He says

Twisting my little toe
until I’m teetering on the edge of the
plastic wrap
His for the taking

So I went home
Feet blue
Crawling  with elbows
A fun game
like we used to do
On strangers’ carpets
in the middle of a heat wave
Back when poems
were silly


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