Spoons
I was kidnapped
in burlap.
Thrown into the river.
You can't see
the bottom.
Dirty water.
I may never be
your baby's mama.
Gonna lie in bed
and listen to Johnny Cash.
I'm not sure,
but it might be raining.
You itch me
like old wool.
You lift your head,
and little,
chalky candies
pop out of your throat.
You don't like country music,
but you wash you hands
with soap.
A praying mantis.
You are rare and bizarre.
You'd try to swim in
a bowl of soup.
Treading water
next to noodles.
Watch out for spoons.
Bird houses have
tiny doors
and I am tall.
Build me a houseboat
with high ceilings,
and we'll sail
the soup pot together.
I'll go fishing for carrots
while you crank the anchor
down.
We can drift for awhile.
Give me a ladle.
No,
give me a slotted spoon.
I can scoop out
what I want of you.
I woke up last night
with feet hanging
off the bed.
Like I was ready to run.
Or maybe comfort
makes my mind
too complacent.
I needed cold feet
to have the right kind
of dreams.
I won't ever
be your trophy,
but I'll try to
gleam a little.