Bitten
We dance naked
on a river of light,
slip into the jungle
as you enter me,
stretch and burn, grind
the balance to dark war.
Winter rain pounds
like labour pains.
Hair grows at speed
of slip-on shoes.
Gloves cover
prints and guilt.
Carnival
Step right up,
ride to the middle
of regret.
Price of a ticket:
your bleeding soul
under glass for all to see.
Set it by the bearded lady.
Her bewhiskered face
catches her tears.
She sells the strands
to clowns who tie them
around balloons,
let them
drift upward
until they burst.
Go Meet Alice
Don white whiskers and a tale
shimmy your tail on down
the rabbit hole
Cross your fingers
and forget why you came
Alice is suds and soda
spice and spruce
She’ll lean on you
tell you to grab
a ladder and come
visit her face
You lick her nose
know you’ll be back
this tale satisfyingly slow
In the Air
morning breeze
shakes tree leaves
over trash
critters follow
the scent
blue mitten wavers
on the playground
swirls onto a bench
a little girl gallops over
snuggles it to her face
slides it onto her hand
an elderly man shivers
pulls coat collar
to his ears
tugs hat to head
just before it blows
out of reach
morning air bows gracefully
today all are carried
all connected
Their Future
Stark streets frame the couple
standing under the streetlight’s glow.
She lingers in front of him
at arm’s length. Each time
he steps toward her, she slips back.
Him, a pin-striped suit,
her, a soft blue dress
with a full skirt.
They don’t seem to belong
here on this corner
with overflowing dumpsters
that smell of rotten trash.
She turns and walks away.
He stares at a newspaper
tossed on the curb,
as if for an answer.
The child in the woman’s womb
knows nothing of the silence
between them..
Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in One Art, Loch Raven Review, The Beatnik Cowboy, As it Ought to Be, Bombfire, Rat’s Ass Review, Spank the Carp, The New Verse News, and others. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2020.
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