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)