What Good is Green Grass?

What good is green grass if

your knee doesn’t work

and you can’t take off work

for the operation

and you can’t pay

for the operation

without the job

at which you are overworked

taxing the knee

to cover taxes and

your fifty dollar subsidised rent

in a slum

where you hobble to bed

then rise 

to hobble to work.

Everything between

is smooth cement

to ease the traffic.

You know who you are,

that once you loved

to lie in green grass

your long hippie hair

thrown back

and poked through by dandelions,

you could taste green

when you breathed

the fresh breeze-puffs

issuing from the fluffy clouds

you could watch for hours

even when you weren’t high.

Nature was what you loved most

but now, you don’t pause

to breathe in the green

or even go out to see

if there is any grass 

because you have no one

to lie down in the grass with

even if you could kneel

and bend

and touch the ground

The Girl Waiting for Her Mother in Gina Tricot

waits alone
in a small bubble
her fist so close
to her compact cheeks
to the little knob of her nose
this is it, all of her
right here in this little bag

she drills one finger into a nostril
over and over
but nothing comes out
it is hollow
she is empty
but digs all the same
trying to reach within
since there is nothing without
everything in the world
is right there

it is all so small
and inside the invisible walls
she is huge and alone and insignificant
wiping her dry finger along the counter
as if to leave a trace, a smudge, a smear of her slime
as if to mark a trail in the dust
but at Gina Tricot it has all been wiped away
there is nothing for her to touch
outside
and nothing for her to reach
within

she rubs and dubs her nose
it is all she has
this distance between nose and fist
but it is not enough
and she doesn’t question
how the world can be so completely full
of nothing
she doesn’t wonder if it could be unlike this
somewhere else
she knows only this, it is everything
and it is
so
not
enough