Three Poems by Drew DeGennaro

Listen to a podcast of Drew DeGennaro’s “Yellow Dots.”

Yellow Dots

Meg bellies up to the bar
Ordering a shot, no lemon, no salt
Extending her stomach, those yellow spots
Spread over the nose, her cheeks covered
Swimming in red rivers pupils wide
Needle sized holes hike up her arms
Slithering like snakes
Hot pink lipstick, leather skirt, low cut shirt,
Push up bra, those pink leather straps
Her heels keep her off the ground.

Listen to a podcast of Drew DeGennaro’s “Welcome.”

Welcome

It’s been some time since my husband and I were fascinated with the sky. Or by the stars that drape the hills right outside Fargo, North Dakota, mid
May. Every summer the two of us would sit in the house by the windows on the love seat talking-those were the years we loved things like that.
Joe-remember that night the sky held back its tears and my water broke. That blizzard sure did dress the mid west in a heavy winter coat that year,
piling snow high above houses. On the way to the hospital the ice rain acted like gloves that slapped our windshield silly. We drifted at seven miles per
hour accidentally crossing the Canadian boarder and threw the old Chevy in reverse in fear of free health care and circular bacon. Thankfully we made it
back to the Dakotas where I gave birth to Denny on Interstate 29. Remember his head looked like a lopsided zucchini.
I need a break from raising this kid because he asks for you every night before bed. I tell him that Daddy is going to pick him up this weekend in the red
truck. He is amused because I can’t throw or catch a baseball properly. You left with the fine china and T.V remote-with the floral bedspread, can-
opener, and Denny’s favorite Spiderman placemat. He ate dinner on that thing every night. Denny needs a father to play 52 Card Pickup with and go
fishing with on the lakes.
Joe-I won’t complain about the car anymore and won’t ask that you fix anything ever again. I’ll always leave the toilet seat up and join in on the
shenanigans of hunting season. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a good wife. The keys to the house are under the welcome mat and have been there forever. Or at
least it feels like forever. All those mid May days and summers. Where did they go? Have they went away?

Listen to a podcast of Drew DeGennaro’s “I’d Love To . . .”

I’d Love To . . .

I said.
Hello.
Last March by the bushes
Outside the Witches Brew
Near my apartment
On Sunrise Highway

And remember the next day
You were outside Mike’s Gas and
I asked.
You wanna eat.
And you said.
Sure.
And we ate Mexican on 25th and Lake
Laughed and went back to my place

Remember in the park that night
Under our blanket, looking at the faded stars
Gazing across the sky then I drove you home and
I said.
Have a good night.
And you said.
We should do this again.
And I said.
If you’d like

We saw a movie the following week
And at the end
I said.
I’d love to . . .
And you said.
I’ll call you good night.

About the author:
I attend Augsburg College in Minneapolis, MN, and write when I can. I visit New York twice a year to see the family, my one friend, my two cats and two dogs. My dream of becoming a highly respected speller within the writing world is coming together quickly. I’m currently trying to figure out what I can do with an English degree after college that doesn’t involve teaching at a private high school and eating beef flavored Ramen Noodles all day long.