Things My Girlfriend Says to Me
I knew what you were thinking my girlfriend says.
How do you know? I say.
I have ESP from swallowing your sperms she says.
What I was thinking: I love you.
I love you too she says.
In bed, above the covers, I can feel the air from the fan
tell my toes to crack.
Over breakfast, my girlfriend tells me about skirts.
Usually skirts are shorter in the back, but mine are longer.
She doesn’t like her ass. There’s not much to it she says.
Out of the shower, she glistens like the chrome shower curtain
she’s standing under. I touch her lips with my lips.
Her towel is the color of her skin, but I remove it anyway.
Things smell like chalk dust. I sit in the waiting room
and wonder if a room has ever been so perfectly titled.
Like this poem is only slightly titled well. Like maybe
I should title it “Things My Girlfriend Says to Me Over
Two and a Half Days Before going to See the Gynecologist
at Planned Parenthood.”
I have a hard time writing poems that don’t mention her hair,
so let me just get it out: her bangs fall like Spanish moss.
This is a good thing.
How do you know? I say.
I have ESP from swallowing your sperms she says.
What I was thinking: I love you.
I love you too she says.
In bed, above the covers, I can feel the air from the fan
tell my toes to crack.
Over breakfast, my girlfriend tells me about skirts.
Usually skirts are shorter in the back, but mine are longer.
She doesn’t like her ass. There’s not much to it she says.
Out of the shower, she glistens like the chrome shower curtain
she’s standing under. I touch her lips with my lips.
Her towel is the color of her skin, but I remove it anyway.
Things smell like chalk dust. I sit in the waiting room
and wonder if a room has ever been so perfectly titled.
Like this poem is only slightly titled well. Like maybe
I should title it “Things My Girlfriend Says to Me Over
Two and a Half Days Before going to See the Gynecologist
at Planned Parenthood.”
I have a hard time writing poems that don’t mention her hair,
so let me just get it out: her bangs fall like Spanish moss.
This is a good thing.
Gregory Sherl is taking his MFA at Florida Atlantic University. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, New York Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, Night Train, Chiron Review, elimae, and elsewhere.
He thinks sugar is spooky. And herpes.
He thinks sugar is spooky. And herpes.