Flat-chested Girl from the NGO
Know that she
has the advantage here
she could quicken somebody’s blood
and her nose is pierced
with a little diamond
it glints –
a flare, spark, feather
of eroticism floating above
what she says and
says she knows
and she has a jeep
she sees a road
sees me
only as a shadow
around a beer
an unshowered attitude
tipped back
in a molded-plastic chair
watching
three frantic cockroaches
map the wall
behind her head
wishing she’d kick
the chair out from under me
something
to compensate
for her over-sized tee-shirt
the glib, presumptuous faith
her ergonomic
backpacker sandals
wishing
she’d stop believing and
jump up and cuff me
with the back of her hand
rise and burn
with some gorgeous, sudden
diamond fury
spitting down rage
on a brokenness
that flourishes
beyond our knowing
and nothing
we can do
but trouble it
sometimes beautifully
Read “An Organization of Pain and Joy”, the Rumpus Review of Tom Healy’s first collection of poems, What the Right Hand Knows
