VINYL POETRY

Volume 1, August 2010

BIRDIE
Joseph YoungView Contributor’s Note

Pornography

First He went across the floor to where she sat. One sleeve of her shirt dropped to show her shoulder, salted and brown. One hundred fish filled the wave. Now, he said. Now is now. Second The car wouldn’t start, sputtering time in falling snow. Crows stood in the tree above. Give me, she said, reaching over the knees. Fourth They walked the dog, hardly filling a black space in the dark. The houses had lit their windows red. Fifth Don’t watch me, he said. I feel frail. She kept at it though, the bottles in the windows having broke the light. Third It was second to longest day. The swimming pool gleamed green under the calving sky. She curved her hip to the water and pushed. Now, like ever, he could not keep pace. Sixth As they ate their lunch, a thousand flowers the size of periods. Your hands, he said. Though she had no embarrassment. Seventh The ring twisted, burnt gold on the black street. Eighth Leaves were bright crusts of bread in the grass. She filled her shirt to parade in the street, rocked back on her heels. That’s too easy, he said, misunderstanding again. Ninth Her leg held steady the tree. We should rest, one of them said, for Christmas. The floor was a wasp of needles, the house a caught fire.