Glass: A Journal of Poetry Volume Four Issue One
Hail Annie, full of sass
and Whataburger lemon pies!
No one is with you to bully
a bluebird into a Bloody Mary,
or lure a hurricane deck
into a wooden nook for haikus.
Blessed are you among fools,
and blessed are your unplucked eyebrows,
clogging drains and vacuums.
Hail Annie, full of cuticles!
And the avocado of your womb,
Screwball Annie, Dismal Annie,
Lil’ Mama of Unslept Nights,
you rewind the Sleep Easy Guided Meditation
until the By now you should be
in your bed rips a scabby hangnail—
Hail Vengeful Annie! Pray for us ex-lovers,
who’ve barbequed bratwursts
out of your heart,
who only knew how to apologize
800,000 times over while you cradled a plate
of vegan pistachio cupcakes
in a zebra-print corset and cried—
Hail Annie, full of—hear that sound?
It’s the New Age-y church bells pealing,
it’s the last call at the Tiki bar,
and it’s the sound of you getting
jilted at the airport altar
and not being at all surprised—
Hail Lovelorn Annie! Hasten to hear us
now and at the hour
of our demise, when you stay awake
all night long smash into shards
against the walls of our insomnia,
those patterned china plates you never once threw.
To the Top 40 Hip-Hop, mildewed dishrags,
and rosé boxed wine,
and to us, the dumb baby boyfriends
wailing help help help me for an eternity
of never ducking fast enough from your throw,