We came here
with Bisquick and Folgers
to prance like dogs
in the slow dust of boulders,
and to grip each others’ eyes
after grabbing each others’ shoulders.
I waited for you
to ask me about me. I waited
so hard all I was was waiting.
Then you said Thin streams in Minnesota saunter,
gain speed, feed the Mississippi, then spill themselves into the fat Gulf
of Mexico as if it were interesting. It was. It is. And I smell a wall.
You are the school where they train maître d’s
to lead people to seats
accepting kisses only
on their cheeks.
Take these crumbs, child:
shake them at the flock of ducks
who will admire your waddle,
your puffed and ruffled butt,
and will take you in as theirs.
In Ohio, talk of the ocean
comes off gaudy. Salt this, sand that.
Clouds, gulls, tall air.
Then, there, oh.
Inside this castle that we make
is a little bit of cocaine
Nancy Kangas lives in Columbus, Ohio. Her poetry has been published in print and online, and for over a decade she edited Nancy’s Magazine. She writes and draws for Muse magazine, and often teaches poetry in residencies sponsored by the Ohio Arts Council. Nancy works as a cut-flower grower, florist and public librarian.