Sex and Murder Magazine

By kj

she prayed, wished, and longed for
the sort of thirst the grass in a back
yard has when it sips a man's bones
for taking liberties with a sharp spade.

she'll hold no more water, this flooded,
female delta who weeps for a warped
sort of retail therapy, & snatches tissue
after tissue after tissue in hope that
the cold morning will come when she
will strut her rain bedraggled stuff in
a glitzy pair of brand name flats while
she stoops to heft a fucking newspaper.

if she truly desires them she should take up gardening, cross her fingers & toes, start
daydreaming, & ask the soil beneath her feet to reward her, for the blood running from her foot,
with weeds, dandelions & crabgrass in all its hateful, hues of blue.
then she'll have a deep, girly need for tiny, sassy cathouse shoes.