I’m a Victorian cowgirl with a clicking jaw.
I don’t wear sweatpants with the word
TROUBLE printed on the ass because that
would be redundant. This is where I up the
ante by writing something even more offensive
like I’m so hot I could impregnate myself.
Somehow, even without the TROUBLE
sweatpants, there are people who yell “Trouble!”
at me from across the street. Sometimes people
yell “Timber!” but that’s only when tall shoes
and margaritas are involved. If I was a tree I’d
want to be a pine because of the needles. People
would always be finding a piece of me. After
Christmas in the carpet, on a sweatshirt after a
long walk in the woods. Imagine the mind control!
That’s really what it’s about right? To be that dog
that pees on everything that can never be forgotten.
Right?
About the author:
Meg Johnson’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Slipstream Magazine, Left Behind: A Journal of Shock Literature, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Radioactive Moat, Asinine Poetry, and Pacific Coast Journal. She was born in 1983 and currently lives in Madison, Wisconsin. She works in the performing arts.
