Tag: Frederick

The way to my heart

is a White Russian milkshake.

It’s that easy.

 

I wish it wasn’t.

 

I used to think love was about

round rosy cheeks or

raised eyebrows up close or

the folds and the tunnels

of an ear

the crevices in a top lip

the dents in a grin

 

but

 

I’m finding that it is just about food,

and who will bring me a

milkshake at 2 AM.

 

Karen Ann Frederick, USA

Well I asked my cat

“What is it like

to be in love?”

 

And she looked at me

with saucer eyes

and folded over to

clean her butt.

 

I guess she doesn’t know either.

 

I am looking at pictures from the nineties.

I am wondering what you went as for Halloween.

 

I want to thank you for the constellations

because I think you are indirectly responsible.

 

I’ve written you a hundred letters

but I sent them to other people.

I don’t want you to read them

but I want them to be read.

 

I live on a diet of avocados and burgers and art.

And I hope you still enjoy the simplicity of a milkshake.

 

There is an itch on my back I can’t reach.

You are an itch on my back I can’t reach.

You are an itch.

 

I am looking for

a place to live but I would

rather live with you. Even though

 

you snore like my grandmother

just before she turned ninety and died.

 

I keep a postcard by my bed, stamped,

with your address,

ready to be mailed. It says

“I MISS YOU!”

 

And I think

I might mail it one of these days.

 

Karen Ann Frederick, USA

I am comparing things

that have no right to be

compared.

 

Seinfeld to The Shining.

 

A cookie and a carrot.

 

The sound of rain on

the air conditioning unit to the

clatter of heels.

 

I am comparing

the kiss of

a close friend

to the kiss

of a near stranger.

 

You kissed me for

who

I am.

He kissed me for

who he thinks

I am.

 

Karen Ann Frederick, USA