Dug this one out of the virtual bin of rejected poems. I rather like it.
A Girl I Might Have Known
Ink in her eyes and an outdated
globe behind her eyes—the shitty
committee between her ears, that is—
a girl I might have known crawls
backwards over Chutes and Ladders,
stopping to tell me in her gurgling voice
that the game originated in India and
was all about karma and moksha and atman.
I tell her my tuppence ha’penny worth,
and she doesn’t like that one tiny bit.
Disgorging last year’s meal (the entire
population of a small Nebraska town),
she says she’s more comfortable in her
divine snake incarnation—I’m not going
to argue, for fuck’s sake—and so she slithers
off into a handcrafted night to spite others.