java

warm cup of coffee so delicious against my lips makes me close my eyes and go mmm

12pack

i see the football game's score
on the tv in the liquor store,
it makes me think of you.

then i scoff across the
gritty linoleum floor.

late november in wisconsin and
the ground so cold so hard, the wet dirt sticks
like it's frozen solid. the tile like sandpaper
beneath my boots.

piss-yellow fluorescent lights fixed in the ceiling,
buzzing and moaning,
with dead horse flies
like polka dots caught in the humming and the droning.
my ears twitched
the lights flicked

and

as my eyes make a decision
the variety 12pack gives me tunnel vision
with christmas colors like evergreen
and brick red.
then i wonder when i'll see your cute face again.

lockdown in bedroom.

disillusioned and exhausted today.

dogs n cats

the pup just touched noses with peanut. it was so cute. maybe they will be friends soon. but tiger still hisses and slices her claws into sierra's curious wet nose. i mean, all sierra wants to do is sniff tiger's little cat butt. however i don't think cats like their butts sniffed like dogs do. oh, the innocent miscommunication and cultural differences.

bad day.

dark hole, where are you? i'd like to crawl inside.

kidnapping

jessica is my life-long best friend who lives in phoenix and has been going to school for nursing, and supporting herself as a server at chili's for three plus years now. to be blunt, this summer she is getting shafted as far as scheduling and shifts go. she is working a double on the fourth of july. and believe me, jess likes to celebrate for whatever the occasion is. so this depresses her a lot, on top of all the other shitty shifts she has been scheduled so far this summer. here is my plan to rescue her:

dear jess,

consider this my pre-meditated warning. i will be sending a magazine-mosiac cut & paste ransom letter to chili's. i will be showing up at the restaurant while you are working. i will be wearing an american flag jumpsuit with an Uncle Sam face mask, and huge white boots with spurs. i will pop one of those confetti poppers in the middle of the restaurant during the lunch rush, then throw my head back and laugh menacingly, all the while flailing my arms for effect. then i will fake-karate chop you in the shoulder and take you out at the knees. i will run out of chili's with you dangling over my shoulder.

you have been warned.

love, brooke

poetry

poetry,
mostly,
i don't understand you.
unless you're ani difranco
or jenny lewis
or bjork
or even...
hot mamas like cherrie moraga, gloria anzaldua, and michele serros.
they're pretty straightforward.
and real.

other than that,
poetry that is too elusive
too metaphorical, not contextualized, too many similes
i just don't get it.

i just don't

i appreciate poetic sounds. like rap.
rhyming and rhythm and beauty.
and look: here's what i'm saying. not some random shit that i need three dictionaries and two encyclopedias to understand.

some academics say they like it. they get PhD's and stuff in it.
but man, "poetry"--
i just don't understand you.