By Jane Yeh
In her head
Runs with no interval,
A lot of people singing tunelessly
About the same things.
A rotting peach.
Cockatoo of her impatience,
Flap flap. The slab
Of blue behind her
Is a sea of
Her doubts. The squirrel
In her stomach
Trying to get out—
They say you have to be
Twice as good. They say
There are pills
For everything now. Enamel
Eyes to see all
The better with, my
Dear. Fur coat
For your tongue—
Source: Poetry (April 2019)
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