Eve Rounds

on my walk to target

owning in a transitional neighborhood is like being part of an evolutionary experiment. where i was once afraid to walk eight years ago, i now only avoid after dark. i blink maybe one and a half times before heading out.

i’m dressed like a poor college student. my posture hunched because i’m hungry.
skater backpack larger than my torso
plenty of spray on sunscreen
dirty braids cheap sunglasses generic tank
hiking skirt of an unflattering length
and twenty year old tevas.

she’s dressed like a crack whore. her posture hunched because she’s a crack whore.
empty purse strap tightly wound about her wrist
frizzy dark “hair” with under eye circles to match
“silk and “lace” cami “fur” jacket despite eighty degree sun
mens dress pants from the thrift store three blocks south
and nothing on her feet

she propositions me.
because she’s a crack whore.
which inexplicably makes me feel attractive in my own garb and carriage.
which makes me feel ashamed.
but i get over it about two blocks south.

so i walk past the newly remodeled mcdonalds
where people of all vocations wait in the “drive thru” for way too long
only to pull over immediately and eat in the parking lot
blocking all other incoming “drive thru” patrons.

so i shop for boring things.
contact solution dental floss toilet paper.
i attempt to be even chattier than the check out gal
because that seems like a fun sub experiment.
conclusion: i do not have more things to say than cathy comic strip of isle 7.

i’m famished.
so i pull myself over into the shade
just outside yet out of the way of the entrance
to eat a string cheese while a determined pudgy man
tries to convince me to join the new car sharing program from enterprise.
“i have a car.” which he doesn’t believe.
“i just felt like walking.” which he doesn’t believe.
probably because someone desperate enough to eat target brand dairy products
on the nasty streets of uptown tend not to be much for exercise.

i “farmers walk” home up a different street.
an evenly distributed backpack double strapped across my chest
and acting as my rather wimpy kettle bells
a twelve roll in my right hand the few refrigerated items in my left
heel to toe heel to toe abs tight shoulders back
maintaining proper posture.

the neighborhood street is plush and welcoming
with cute little pairs of dogs
and evidence of proud gardeners.
i inhale fresh floral and herbs.

i arrive at my back door smiling.
leaving everything even the eggs on the floor of my kitchen
just inside yet out of the way of the entrance
i rush over to my keyboard
to type this.

most of this story is true.
my tevas were the proud purchase of a teenager.
the crack whore was a crack whore who boosted my confidence.
macdonald’s does suck.
we all know how serious i am about cheese.
i do have a car.
i could have forgotten to grab the opti free. but i didn’t. i chose to buy some “natural” moisturizing cleanser for my eyes.
also i have really good dental hygiene. so yes. two types of floss appealed to me.
some stuff is “embellished” sure.
conclusion: words can be just as exquisite as change.

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love