My name is Beth May and I’m a little nervous right now
because I wrote this poem for you
Yes, you, who despite your best efforts
Have gotten the squeaky wheel on a suave looking shopping cart,
The rare sans boogers and bugs shopping cart, and then you,
thinking you were making a clean getaway until you peeled around the produce and heard it
The slow whine that pulled you out of denial
Don’t look at the ground,
This heart-pounded poet is spinning a love yarn for you
Because I love all tryers, I am one myself, and I’m writing a quick love poem
For the moment of contemplation of taking that cart back,
Half filled with healthy carrots and cheater no-nos,
Lord knows there should be
a self help group for anyone who has ever mixed oreos and peanut butter
I know that we should probably eat a little better,
Glaring into a once promising cart of wonders
But shut up Beth, nutella ain’t death, and this isn’t a poem about me
It’s a poem about you
Yes, you, you’ve got the mindfulness to still smile
when ideas pop into your head miles away from these speakers
So I’ll write a poem about how your smile isn’t exactly dead on symmetrical
It’s cool, nobody’s is. But isn’t it a wonder how you wear it even when you’re wearing thin?
When the sides of your throat tighten to let your eyes know it’s okay to give in
Glistening, but you let your teeth shine instead.
We try so hard to be fine sometimes, you and I.
Which is not to say that you aren’t fine. Poetically, I would shove the curves of our bodies together like my bare back against a fine Ikea reclining chair, but I’m spoken for and maybe so are you, so that’s why our love lives in a poem
I wrote this poem for you, yes you, when I was a little drunk, so that you’d know that even despite my dilated pupils I could envision you out of a crowd, how your laugh is one outta a crowd, and don’t think that applies to just anyone (laugh).
I wrote this for you because if I didn’t, somebody else would. Who am I kidding, somebody else has, and that’s what makes me nervous. Who can put you on paper? It’s like recounting a miraculous extinct mammal in your diary of daily activities. It’s like studiously keeping a diary of daily activities, for years without cheating days and that’s how Mr. Rogers special you are.
But don’t worry about them. The folks that have poetryed you before, poetryed you better. This is our poem. You may not give a damn but my sweat’s on this stage for you, I stuttered into blurry papers trying to learn this poem for you, I pray to the universe that this is the one that really gets to you, but even still I’ll always write poetry for me.
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