with fresh morning milk:
i swear it's not the beer talking—
i imagine CoCo Puffs or something
that tastes swell when dredged in 2 percent
but instead there is just a hint of factory workers
reliving those magical 60's—
when "negro" was something forbidden
and my Hispanic skin may or may not
have been allowed at this bar.
my mother never breastfed me
but i still know what good milk tastes like:
it tastes like a farm rather than the tenderness
of my mother's breasts—
it tastes like a temperate spring day
with an after snack of gram crackers;
not like this Sacred Cow:
bitter and sharp on my tongue
as the bubbles remind me of a good night
of love making
that leads to a little bun in a familiar oven
which leads to fresh milk
like that i can smell
and have never tasted myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment