Misc Poetry, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

NaPoWriMo: We Prostitutes

We don’t look down on
each other here. This one forced
this one willing, this one forced
by force, this one forced by
circumstances, this one forced

and not knowing it, thinking that she,
in her non-stripper shoes, in control of
the chess board, receiving presents
is above it.

We all cry into the same
sweaty pillows.

-M. Ashley

Humor Poem, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo: Worst Poem Ever

I trace your ribs
In cerulean ink
Dewdrops of blue
On the skin
A connect-the-dots
That somehow
Resembles a unicorn
In calligraphy lines
A unicorn with the stripes
Of your bones
A child of myth
And the Serengeti
A mythical zebra with a horn

They must have had unicorns
In the Serengeti too
And your ribs
And my ink
Must have been
What their pelts looked like
On the walls of mythical hunters

If they had pottery
In the mythical Serengeti
And this cerulean ink
Would stick
I would trace your ribs
On the pottery too
While you are sleeping
The rise and fall of your abdomen
With your sacred breath
The reason the lines would be blurred
Not my tears, my love
Not my tears

-M. Ashley

Humor Poem, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

NaPoWriMo: We Talked a Lot of Shit When I Worked at WalMart

Where we gassed and gabbed
we ground our cigarettes out

on the concrete window ledge
in front of the bustling store—

in front of our managers, what
kind of fuck did we give? Our

feet and backs were killing us and
somebody pissed in the fitting room

again. Someone left a dirty diaper
open in a shopping cart. Literal

shit. You customers deserved
every dirty thing we said.

-M. Ashley

Humor Poem, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

NaPoWriMo: Controlled Substances

My pharmacist’s assistant boyfriend
gained weight.
It brings us closer as our fingers
touch over the Hydrocodone
and our wrinkles show
and our noses shine
under the fluorescent lights.

I say in a low voice
“You know they’re for my mother.”

He leans forward and says
so gently
“I know. I remember you.”

I tell him they’re for my mother every time
to prompt his sweet nothing.
I am unashamed. I flounce
out of the pharmacy with my narcotics
swinging my hips.

-M. Ashley