Bernadette

Bernadette reads backwards
moved from dump to dump
with a long will and a fainting lawn chair
twitching with the news ticker
crude as a tarry shorebird
she smokes Marlboro Reds in bed and has a raccoon purse
don’t ask her to hip check the bedbugs right out of you
as the smokescreen of dimming sun only belongs to the thumps of rats and the half-soused barefoot derelicts and the retired handymen
and her
while she wails along with that Phil Spector Sound
in the bathroom
concentrating on getting along with the spiders scaling the tiles
and keeping her hissing cat at a shoe’s length from it all
always sure to fold a few new hydrangeas into her mind
balmy with the day’s rising temp
no a.c. and the windows are mostly stuck closed
she sweats the larger stuff and kicks her feet at the lamplight

Bernadette pastes phrases clipped from magazines together on her walls
and uses her typewriter like a machinegun
her hugs are like barbwire and she always kisses on the mouth
shrugged through loafing she manhandles suitcases and guitars…