Jennifer: a self-possessed, pixilated individual,
stacked like a Playboy bunny, mad as a hatter,
refashioning class accordingly, like it was silly putty.
We bonded at the crotch like two young bunnies,
just for her to be a mother, just to make silken-soft
the bitterness of a broken life in the sticks—
the stigma of trailer-trash insignias, which here
camouflaged as lower-middle before my naïve eyes.
The pill she was purportedly on was more
camouflage— I forgive her now because she
had no choice, backed under trailer wheels.
Corn-rows fell on her, and dirty deals. We taught
each other Transcendentalism in bed— tantric
sessions to cut our teeth on, and cut heads. Including ours.
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