(all beautiful boys look like women)
in glimpses mollis or erect
in boundaries of the cheeky
the penis that we come
to understand as twig
under fold
is satire of the self
dentata
celebrity. authenticity. the fatuism of the alter ego.
receptionists in topknots gossip.
about pop culture. you sign in at the marble counter. wonder if you’ll need a new prescription. another round. amoxicillin. another follow-up with a physician. wonder if the two who sit across from where you’re filling out the forms. together but not talking. one plump. in tee shirt. jeans. who opens up a book. the other thin and on her cellphone. are partners. you think of him not answering your calls. maybe he was right. you were obsessed. a monster. though you tried to keep your big mouth shut. pretended not to notice if he noticed other women. were you needy? devouring. lie to me. a voice as sweet as love repeats. upbeat. the sticky tune on loop exaggerates a caramel of truth. you were a vampire. starved for his attention. you would eat him up alive if he let you. you wonder if they’ll recommend extraction. if receptionists will break soon for lunch.
Kathleen Hellen’s debut collection Umberto’s Night won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House. She is the author of The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Meet Me at the Bottom, and three chapbooks. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, Hellen’s work has appeared in diode, Massachusetts Review, North American Review, Poetry Northwest, Prairie Schooner, The Rumpus, Salamander, and elsewhere. Awards include prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review.