She walks like her hips are a soup ladle.
Thick spoonfuls of negative space.
Like a jutting bulldozer,
straining upward,
before the final wobble at its highest point.
The anticipation in a pendulum.
The hangtime of a swing.
That’s how she walks.
– Rachel R. Vasquez, date unknown (2012?)
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Found this in an old notebook of mine. 😊
I like me a man with a bit o’ boyish charm
who smiles from his cheek
has Andes chocolate mints on his huff
and a scolding as hot as firebrand
arms that can gently swing a heavy jackhammer
a name with rolling R’s and lulling L’s
who’s baritone can ace the Richter scale
a hide like the ha’s on frostbitten mittens
a bull dog mug
who shows culinary care in getting the rise
out of hissing yeses and the grease from fatty hips
coat hangers for shoulders
because they carry my burdens
and a preference to sleep in Wurzelbrot knots.
– Rachel R. Vasquez, 2/15/2010
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Rachel's Floetry 