The Flat Side of the Knife

Black clouds in my coffee

And I like to think I am a new car smell-

I am your father’s mistress

Your mother’s envy

Your brother’s dead dog.

　

You?

You are a Greek clown

Riding a Vespa in Sicily

Your body is Mozzarella-

People cut you…

Gzzing!

I am the flat side of the knife,

I am-

Shinny and reflective-

look at your face- it is on me.

And upon your child’s first birthday party

I am the colorful icing

Smeared on your infants mouth.

Violent- colorful,

a darling snap shot.

I am not a tacky tattoo.

I am the sound of a new text.

My smell

You can find in your lover’s armpit- before or after sex.

My mind,

An exposed sex tape streamed live for your fame.

 I am not enough evidence and you still prevail.

I am-

A dark mole you never had-

The failed relationship you still get horny for-

A credit card commercial that inspires you-

I am the dare you failed to do in your youth,

The awkward moment you have framed and hung in your mind.

I am the old toothbrush you can not throw out.

I am unforeseen love-

I am the protector of your mozzarella body.

Yet, in the fashion of skanky American reality shows,

I hear people say…

“I am not here to make friends”

“I am here to win”