I READ A POEM ONCE AND GOT MAD

wish I could write
tidy litol poet poems about September and its beauty
but my September’s rank: I want theirs
violet skies and shit—
mine are afterthought blue, bloodless, steely
September is just
being sweaty all of Language Arts
unsticking your shirt—again
considering, in the abstract, falling leaves
paper apples, the Pinta, no PE cause Azusa’s on fire—again
you wonder what a world’s like with seasons
I never heard what path he took, hung up on
yellow wood. yellow wood! YELLOWWOOD!
trees with colors! what’s that like. wouldn’t it be splendid
to meet a season from a poem
and forget you’re sticking to your plastic chair

OMG I MISS YOU LET’S HANG

We meet at a café I wanted to try,
Hot chocolate and churros to share.
You keep talking about your fucking dog.

As I sip and nibble, I wonder about
Mortality, and how old your dog is, exactly.

I might throw you a party when it dies.

Seventeen photos I sit through, with nothing new
To say. This dog has looked the same for years.
If it wasn’t yours, it would be cute. Earnest,
Little-toed, bright white. The only thing in
Los Angeles that likes you.

Have the last churro—I’m generous. My silence
Eats up any genuine goodwill
Remaining. Once your mouth is full, I
Eviscerate your favorite book, and smile.

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Bree Wernicke is from Los Angeles. Her poetry has appeared in Kingdom of Pavement.