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A Good Year Down

Jeni Olin

New York will not accept me at this weight &
Mothers of the disappeared don’t come ‘round
Here anymore. I said you’re housekeeping aren’t you
With Lipton tea stains & the Establishment
Seriously attracted. He said: No
I’m turning down the beds. Now it’s my turn
In bed with a beautiful American rage
Like brunettes with night sweats. My love
Semiprecious & stoned
In the shoulder season we hold on
Though I am dismal & have no dope
Siphoned off behind pink Easter
I fake an optimism
Just to breathe—Just thinking of him for once &
The Wandering Jew that ate my sunshine
But I know flowers like Zorro was my dad
Those garlands of thin hissing lasers
So with the “sexy isotherms
Of semiotics” we meet again at the Kiev
To check chemistry. They bring the lights
Down on those cherry pies & like cryogenics
It sorta works. This time my love
The salt doll of night egging us on
Straight to the zeppelin mooring
With she-has-a-bit-of-the-neardamned-in-her-
Like-when-a-cloud-dies construed as
Well, all right, I’ve seen worse.

© 2005, Jeni Olin. By permission of Hanging Loose Press.

© 2005, Jeni Olin. By permission of Hanging Loose Press.

Jeni Olin

by this poet

poem
The new aspirin is a blue-blooded Burberry model
With an Oxford classics degree, but my migraine
Flares beneath a canopy of melanoma-blurring sun
What pains me is the plain human tangle on the L.I.E.
And feeling the tricyclics fail me beneath the canopy of melanoma-blurring sun
And the long pressed-out El Greco