dear ma       she
is not your daughter
anymore       she
is not soft serve from
a white singing truck   she

is skin-ny       she
clasps rust like it
might fray       she
is edged and stiff slow to
sing softly in the shower   she

takes off       she
finds the deep prints of
some boy       she
found it follows up her
spine up into her head   she

                                   is starting      again
                                   standing on the curb at
                                   half past noon    the
                                   singing truck is wailing
                                   down twenty third waiting

                                   for a dime from some juve-
                                                        nile

but this time
           she knows
                        pineapple makes boys taste like
                        candle wax drips
                        we eat lipstick smears
        better than
anything       she

(loves you)