Scott Wordsman
Poem with Michael Kors and Christian Louboutin
Friday. Noon. Splayed my body atop
the hood of a Range Rover. I’m sorry,
America, I couldn’t help myself. Your
machinery, your motor mascots––
these are the things to which I wish
to make love. As I kissed slick
acrylic, singed by the sun, an
immaculate woman’s shout shattered
my tryst. Sweet drone human, I man-
aged to tongue, there is too much to envy
and much more to buy. Do you drive
a nice car? If you do, I think I saw you
this morning, nodding off on the road,
reminding me, through the tilt of your
head, that sleep in a Merc is sleep
in a Jag is sleep in a Benz is sleep
nonetheless.
Scott Wordsman is an MFA student at William Paterson University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Puritan, Main Street Rag, Slipstream, Spry, and others. He lives in Jersey City, works for Map Literary, and teaches composition.
Return to May 2016 Edition
Friday. Noon. Splayed my body atop
the hood of a Range Rover. I’m sorry,
America, I couldn’t help myself. Your
machinery, your motor mascots––
these are the things to which I wish
to make love. As I kissed slick
acrylic, singed by the sun, an
immaculate woman’s shout shattered
my tryst. Sweet drone human, I man-
aged to tongue, there is too much to envy
and much more to buy. Do you drive
a nice car? If you do, I think I saw you
this morning, nodding off on the road,
reminding me, through the tilt of your
head, that sleep in a Merc is sleep
in a Jag is sleep in a Benz is sleep
nonetheless.
Scott Wordsman is an MFA student at William Paterson University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Puritan, Main Street Rag, Slipstream, Spry, and others. He lives in Jersey City, works for Map Literary, and teaches composition.
Return to May 2016 Edition