Glass Poetry Press

Volume Four Issue One

Anne Barngrover

Hail Annie

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, Spit-fire. 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, Hail Annie! Amen.