Things Impossible to Swallow • poems by Pamela Garvey • number 24 in the 2River Chapbook Series • 2River
Serious To Do List
Quick drinking. Aimless
texting from alleyways. No pleas
to that asshole. No spewing hate-speech
targeting self. Vicadin, vespers,
voodoo dolls you’ll dance
into a daze, then bury
in dirt dogs pee in. Scrub off scent—
piss scent? his scent? Black out
birthmark on his scalp, tequila bottle
tattoo, tequila-burned voice, veins
bulging, all cells still stinking
of him. Never become
the step-sister who’d slice off
her heel to fit into a glass slipper. She
gets her eyes pecked out anyway.
If you want to be blind, stuff a rocket
with every photo of self
with him. Launch it at the sun and stare
at the sky until it bursts. Prayers
of flame and fog. Amen?
Digital face turned ash—but whose?
my face?—with those
bloodshot eyes, that puppy dog drag.