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the last three words i want to hear

Willis Plummer

are chemistry, t-rex, and the bassline from seinfeld
i confessed this and other secrets
to you, my love, in the park
on a scratchy wool blanket and
i don’t wish to overstay
but did you see
the sad professor
climbing out of the brush
disheveled and with a tent?
okay he’s gone now but weird

this day too long and soft
you can pack too many clouds
into 24 hours if you’re not careful
and the children get bored so fast
were my fingers less frail
i would offer to arm wrestle but hell
i can never win these games
and i cant beat autocorrect
or the drunk desires for ex-lovers

chelsea’s museum was too big
and she walked through so slowly
i don’t care for the light art at the guggenheim
or the rooms of modernist paintings
i gave up on visual art in the eighties