Poems

by Marie Buck

Cream-Colored Weapon For the Woman in the Blue Bra It was thick The entire fascist room With anti-intellectual and war-mongering Feelings Capital letters were written In a spiral pattern on my body And in a mine In the familiar triangle Some comments about unemployment Touched me on the face But yet my face was in your hair So I breathed fine. I said Fuck the certain price of goods Fuck to adjust the area Spread to fuck the fruit Slipping up behind you But a bureau deemed me A driver’s engine Unprintable As a smooth continuous dance Recent Variations in a Managed Closure for Troy Davis My connectivity and the loans available to me Afforded an evening of laughter and warmth Yet still I minded it very much when she stretched us Too thin. She wanted embellished feelings Utopian olives stuffed with almonds There’s the bridle in the closet The beret on the banister You and I look at one another in confusion Gently rubbing the paper against the cheek Of an undisclosed third party Settler Colony for Scott Olsen He gives a nursery to a girl Who emanates, girthy, through the floodlights She dreamt of sleeping In her own bed Knowing a cupboard Could feel raw in your hands While the greens in the garden Fluttered against an inner arm More to the class war Than it otherwise might have been The tones were working it like girls The opening in her heart baited and switched He gives a nursery to a girl Who emanates, girthy, through the floodlights He doesn’t give a nursery to a widow The tones were working it like girls I was named after a police dancer My slow, lyrical, and obsolete sweetheart My life was the subliminal tape recording The Israeli Defense Force Me, beaten into submission One’s feet in the sand I was named after a rawness in my hands More to the police force I opened a dear friend Delving in the poor soil Small Truck For Mohamed Bouazizi Hello! Aggression is a wedding A fireball in strike Deep within the raging storm That is the great red spot of Jupiter A businesswoman points Her pistol At the computer monitor A small car Assesses the site In front of the spraying water The work reference Has to be pulled in And centered A violent wave breaks On the glowing knife At the scene, I hold my money Feeling a heartfelt wish My armed robbery A small and wet hoody Collapse Beneath a soft skin The point is nobody should Have to live like this

Marie Buck

Marie Buck's chapbook, Amazing Weapons, is out on Scary Topiary Press.