Emily Kendal Frey
Two Poems
We Ride It Where It Takes Us
Dear Jalapeno,
Dear Leisure Suit,
My legs are crossed.
She’s overmedicated.
He’s watching me
watch the man with the beret
draw the blonde on his
tiny pad. No one is
not jealous. Dear Ventricle,
Dear Double,
Dear Rising Temperatures—
Forget about it,
their faces chorus.
The concept of time
is tinted sunglasses.
Put that in your pipe,
Dear Wolfish.
I see a love letter
under the seat.
Dear Equal Sign,
Dear 40 oz.—
I’ve got the volume
up so high
the sky just cracked a little.
Free at Last
Dear Jalapeno,
Dear Zero,
Dear Placebo—
A writing group
is so Western medicine.
A writing group
is bruised fruit.
Dear Coffee,
Dear Deputy—
A writing group
is the average psyche.
A writing group
is tight and sexy.
Dear Lilac,
Dear Nuance,
Dear Senses—
A writing group
eats LUNA bars.
A writing group
frays loose ends.
A writing group
makes goose honks.