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Poetry: Marc Carver

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MORT

I want to work in a mortuary.

Tickle toes and tags.

Jump out at people as they turn corners.

Boo, only me.

Paint clown faces on them.

Sit them around tables and have parties with them.

Put hats on them and dress them in fancy clothes.

Talk to them about my problems.

Pretend that they are listening to me.

Do you really understand? I might ask them.

Nod their heads up and down.

And when I am sick of them, they can take them away

and bury them.

Then I will have new friends.

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JUDGE JUDY

I think that I am falling in love with Judge Judy.

It only started today

she laughed her little laugh

the one that shoots gently from the side of her face

And that’s when I knew.

How I would love to sit up there with her on the bench

Maybe we could hold hands.

Maybe I could place my hand on her thigh as she deliberated.

I could slam the hammer down and shout

ORDER, ORDER I SAY.

DAMN YOU. JUDGE JUDY IS TALKING.

Maybe she would sack the big black dude and let me do his job.

You know

that one that shouts out the case number and calls the plaintiffs forward.

I could look at Judge Judy every day and smile my love into her.

She does scare me a bit though when she starts shouting

But I see a warmer side to her of course.

After all

She is always fair and true and just and

You know

That is such a rare quality these days

Especially for                     a woman

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GOLDEN NIPPLES

I had this strange desire

while I was on the train

to ask a woman

if she would lick my nipples

but

the more I thought about it

the more I realized

how odd that would sound out loud

so I thought about saying

“I have a strange affliction

my nipples taste of chocolate.”

“Do they really?”

She might say

“Oh yes,” I would say

As I lift up my shirt and hopefully let her suck on them.

“I can’t taste chocolate.”

“Keep going and maybe a bit faster, bitch.”

As my toes curl up

“No, I still can’t taste anything.”

“Shut up talking and keep licking.”

All rights reserved to Marc Carver.

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Poetry: Michael Pate

Poetry: Lewis Mundt

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