Martine Johanna

Ways of Looking at My Gender by Linnea Ogden
Like a toad describing warts there are things
I can’t quite reach
My bride is a fetish and also a friend

More excited about a parking spot and a ripe banana
than a richly theoretical text
I still underline like I’m qualified to offer advice to people of color

Imagine a blue window in the middle of your forehead
Mine shows a cold beer in a wide-mouth Mason jar
blinking like a broken neon sign

I don’t feel sorry for myself
but I do wish some authors
would write more trilogies

The sun just makes me tired
The position of the average human
is a shadow territory where they ought to be

Surrounded by the rung metal of roadworks
In early morning filthy calm I gather too-small paper clips
to clip unwieldy stacks of essays

What a rush to be near your phone when I leave messages
Self-pity is a window into real space and
flesh is weaker than the flesh

but given a chance light catches on the least pen stroke
I push someone on the bus until the bus moves forward into the rain
carries speech with our sticky thighs


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