Thrush Poetry Journal
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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.




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