Lemon Water in Lake Michigan
Midwestern boys use tongue. And I’ve sprouted
from cracks in concrete. Midwestern boys use their fingers.
And I’ve used my hands
too. Trust me. I’ve used numb hands
to mold Midwestern boys. I know how they form words
in their heads before slapping asses
in beds that I’ve made.
I don’t wash my sheets anymore.
I used to know Midwestern boys, but they don’t bleed
with the vigor that I do. They don’t smack
ball of foot to earth the way that I taught them to.
And Midwestern boys use pretty words
like “only child” to water me,
make me grow, spread me
out, lick me clean. Midwestern boys borrow
my knitting needles and use them
wrong. Midwestern boys show me their photographs,
let me put finger to gloss. Let me put finger to mouth,
Midwestern boys. I’m stuck
between two slabs of planet
and all of the Midwestern boys are drinking