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By Jane Yeh

The opera
In her head


Runs with no interval,
A lot of people singing tunelessly


About the same things.
An overheard


Comment like
A rotting peach.


The overzealous
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)

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Living

Poet Bio

Jane Yeh
Jane Yeh’s third collection, Discipline, is just out from Carcanet Press. See More By This Poet

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