Tomorrows I will give you

after songs I remember from Guys and Dolls

I opened my gut for you from the rear.
A painter I know asked me what I was going to do
with poetry in this generation of Twitter.
I didn’t know how to answer him, said something
self-deprecating and he didn’t accept it. We were discussing
Laura Riding and her wings. We were eating paella
and samosas, rich and comfortable. I pretended I was
Majorca and everyone praised my breezes, my salt air.
They sat on me brickly stoic. I am ground.
Pepper and jalapenos in the air. A brick
painted white and to look like a pelican. I drew
a giant female butterfly on cardboard to distract
the boys. But I opened from behind
the curtain sequined in croutons. I let everyone in.