Honey-Sucked

steel fabric fence

orange buds

spill between

chain link

I’m sipping sweet

from pedaled cups

a playground

recess.

a fat hole

in my smile

where front

tooth

yesterday

stood

at attention

made

foolproof

gum

to cup

flower’s mouth

in my mouth

brief

brief

shrill laughter

children gather

to drink

what nectar

I’ve found

little faces

curl quick

smiles

wave-crashed

shapes

of sand

have you ever seen

milk curdle?

have you ever

but wet

the whistle

when the need

was to quench

a thirst

earned

by a game

of handball

a lawn of

spent flowers

to the drinking

fountain

they go.

for days

weeks more

I’m pressing

my tongue

to those buds

forget tether ball

and hand stands

and basketball

and monkey bars

and sandwiches

and swings

I’m foraging

in thigh-high

weeds

shivers

and freaks

as they reach

a spindly finger

to tickle cheek

I’m sticking

miniature arms

through links

elbows deep

pluck, drink, repeat

where fence ends

or merges

with suburban

woodland

thicket

I’m too pansy

to escape

or trespass

inside me,

my mother’s voice,

“Don’t go back there,

there’s monsters”

and I know this,

now,

to mean snakes

here, I can’t hear

the bell ring

beyond ear’s reach

of a teacher’s whistle

a child scream

reliance

on sight

a feeling

a sensed

scattering

of a student

body

scampering

a tide

bowing

I’ll know

when to go

when to take

my seat

and resume

crayola studies

in math

for days

and weeks

I return

to the honey

till each

in safe reach

has been drunk

I have always

been one

to linger

too long

at the wrong

party

the right

party

the one left

behind

when the action’s

moved on

which is to say

I’ve hovered

round the fence

to take

what drops

I can

for hope

of a story

the best part

just might

come

when all the suckles

have been sucked

I’m knees to the grass

making chains

of my own

chains of daisies

to wither

in the fanny

pack with pocket

diary

and half-sized

pen

I’ve run out of play

and of speech

I sit

in the grass

and write things

I have always

been this

sad-romantic

imagine it

at six

double it

tripple the digits

I’m still it

it is what it is

have you ever seen

hope curdle?

pubescent

reflex like

an unwanted

boner

September came

like a

sprinkler head

water spitting

sun-soaked

prisms

wet kisses

beckoning one

to rip off

their clothes

and run through

a rainbow

I picked up the hose

and guzzled it

when did I become

so dumb

and thirsty?

have you ever seen

a snake leap

a fence?

an eye

blinks twice

to find one

coiled

in fresh

mown grass

danger

is often

so very

peculiar

if not

picturesque

by spring

I’d curbed

the tire

and caught

carpet knee

doing the doings

of all that

phantom dick

sucking

and groveling

and see

twice-drunk

flowers

piled high

on my pass-

enger seat

ribbons of

meyer lemon

sweet

sweet

sweet

but suck

to the rind

and find sour

bitter can’t

possibly be

better

than parched

have you ever

seen yourself die

just a litte?

just shy

of an apron

a version me

is making

whipped cream

for the coffee

from scratch

I ought to have been writing

Hawaiian punched

by fists of summer

red dye number 4

is nothing more

than gulps of

lab-made-saccharine

I ought to have been writing

I’m walking back to the trees

I’m walking back to the trees

I’m walking my way back

to overgrown weeds

where the sips are seldom

and milked

from buttercup leaves

hey listen,

there’s something as simple

as standing in a stream

opened mouthed

drink me.