Fireflies

I once read that
for every 50 males
there is one female.

She rises from the ground
in summer, flashing
golden like the rest,

but she waits
on a leaf or grass
blade for the right

lighted male to float along.
Did I say right? I meant
she takes the first

lighted male that finds her.
The two connect,
join together for the night

not even parting when
their lives are threatened, or
when 49 better males pass by.



SWF

If you crawl into bed
with Emily,
you'll find you're not the only

guest. Something
soft lies
beside her, just under

the covers-a small patch,
white fur
that used to be a rabbit, or

some part of a rabbit, anyway.
She calls
this bed mate Bobby.

Bobby has lived, or rather, lain
beside her
for over two decades now,

serving as comfort on dark nights
at first,
then growing into the kind

of sidekick you just might enjoy
if you
are not afraid of a little death in bed.



Resume: Reason for Leaving

i. Babysitter

The dog, a skeletal greyhound
named Cinnamon, smells

more like piss than spice

and likes to lap at my lap.
I escape to the bathroom to find

a boy with his foot in the toilet.


ii. Teacher

One male, a skeletal pothead
called C-mon, smells

like piss and Old Spice

and likes to stare at my breasts.
I escape to the bathroom. I slip-

and get my foot stuck in the toilet.



About the author:
I'm a visiting professor of writing and literature for the 2008-2009 school year at Point Loma Nazarene University. My poetry and book reviews have been published in Boxcar Poetry Review, Downgo Sun, Kansas City Voices, New Letters, and Relief. I recently received the Harriette Yeckel in Honor of Ingrid de Kok Award and the Crystal Field Scholarship for Poetry.

© 2011 Word Riot