Lily-ish Linguistics

This was actually my English assignment today. Write a poetic poem to turn someone into something. (Note, we are in fact reading Macbeth right now.)

‘gine shake damper, vibration absorber
Mingled and mixed with the torque converter.
Suspension bolts and rusted beam axels
Thrown in a vat of transmission fluid.

A single hood and trunk release cable,
Chopped up and boiled with some crumbling spark plugs.
An odometer from an eighty-eight,
The make and the model do not matter.

Shake the transmission fluid for an hour,
Or - if you dare taste - until it’s gone sour.
Bring a puddle of asphalt to simmer,
And ‘fore you know it, you’ll be wheel-bound forever.

there’s the smell of freshly
upturned dirt in every breath you take,
whether walking down familiar streets
or barreling down gravel roads,
leave in your rampant wake
clouds of dust
and the echo of ecstatic screams.

somewhere back in town,
coffee percolates to an erratic rhythm
and a waitress, haphazardly wrapped
within her slender black apron,
stumbles, nervously dishing up plate
upon heaping plate
of enticingly scented family recipes.

there’s newly cut grass
and bare, white toes crinkling up
as children rush passed you
through mud puddles and over sprinklers
chackling as if every word
is the most important
to ever pass their innocent lips.

tangerine lockers march
along cream and brown brick walls.
each metal cubicle as marked and unique
as the students whose papers and bags
peak out into the halls.
every little person, piece, and part
making up the whole of your town.

Woot Woot!
Number 3!

Discuss me
At the point on my chest
Where the stitching meets.
But please, keep your fingers clear
Of my delicate features.

Purple lips
Parted precisely to publicize
One chipped tooth
And two fillings, mirrored on two molars.
(Look how they shine.)

Am I gorgeous yet,
My dear sweet coroner?
I suppose so, displayed before you
In your ceremonially sterile world,
Barely veiled in white.

There’s still some dirt
Tucked up safely under my nails.
You can tell; I was a fighter.
Now close my eyes, coroner,
I’d like to go to sleep.

You kissed me when I least expected it
and I suppose that was quite foolish of me;
since when could I expect you to be expectable?

There was something funny about that kiss
as hot and fierce, fingers on my back,
tongue against my teeth, as it was.

I know you’re wondering what made it so funny;
it was good, trust me. I don't know what to say but
it’s different with you, I think you know that.

But promise me, next time you kiss me,
don’t leave me as distraught as I am now.
Without you here, I’m feeling slightly homesick.

Glowing

Did you notice,
I’m glowing again.
Not because of the cigarette
Pinched between my fingers
Exuding that lovely orange
And ever-cancerous light.

The filters pinched
Far too tightly between
My thumb and index finger,
So tightly in fact,
That every single drag
Seems to be weighted by elephants.

No, I’ve another reason
For glowing as I am,
Because in the morning,
I’ll be waking up with a tangle
Of you and me in my sheets,
And I’m quite certain I’ll still be glowing.

You wore your suit and tie,
And as if it made you better than me
You smiled, winked, and ruffled my hair.
“Daddy,” I’ve said, mad at you,
“Don’t do that. I’m seven now.
That means that soon I’ll be all grown up.”
Your face seemed to fall.
It’s been ten years, nearly eleven,
And now I almost wish I hadn’t said that,
Because when I was seven,
I dearly wanted to be all grown up.
But tomorrow, I’ll be standing on stage,
Diploma in hand,
And I won’t be your little girl any more.