By Sarah Poduba
Boy with brown eyes melts me into thick and sticky
batter. He brings me to a boil then drops pasta
(bowties are his favorite) into me. Briefly he
bakes me until I’m warm and gooey, he calls me
baby. He broods like he’s burnt out. Blatant with his
black heart. Brandishing his knife, he can butcher me
bloody and not blink. He will bust windows when he’s
brawling with his brutish fists. He will break me down,
beating up men just for beholding me. He’s a stallion,
bucking off anyone who tries to bridle him. Beauty
borne from boughs of nearby birch trees. He’s
barking up the wrong girl, he’s begging me to
breed with him, bleed for him, he wishes he could
be a human being again. He wishes he could remember me
before I ever threatened to leave him. He calls me
bitch I call him bastard. He doesn’t know where I am.
Breezes turned to brisk winds and now I’m in his arms again.
Baseless accusations soar out of the park like blown-out
baseballs. I’m breathing deep, I’m bearing the heat, he’s
back on the blow, he’s broken beyond all belief.
