Poems from Drop Dead Beautiful (Wood Works Press, 1998)

WHAT THE BODY IN THE TRUNK SANG

I'm only seventeen but I'm older than you,
more widely travelled. I've been across the border.
An ocean overflows my mouth, black water

Drunk from the fountain of secrets unravelled.
Polyester fibers in my bloody hair
doubled like an embryo, folded

Like an aluminum chair. Life did this.
God let it happen. To surrender was
my one last wish. It was not granted.

Trash is homogeneous, garbage is not.
I am a piece of meat among
three crowbars and a jack,

My eyelid's bruised sunrise
to greet the young detective who
pries open the lid of this great clam,

Covers his mouth with a handkerchief
and turns his head.

_