Stephanie Young

I come to you dripping from head to foot

from every pore, you’re covered with blood and dirt:
the shape togetherness was taken by

dispossession and constraint

the shape our togetherness took
not exactly our decision

not exactly not

I come to you in the warehouse after work
over lunch I suck you off at a public park
against a backdrop of container ships

you drip from head to foot with bankruptcy
from every pore with debt, I’m covered with
food stamps, worker’s comp

faced away from you

dripping with the blood of countless
free applications for student aid

filled out as I instructed

covered with the breath of board
members and executive directors

you enter dripping with nonprofit diversity
and inclusion, I drool onto the cover

its fabric of deans and department chairs

letters of appointment kept and broken
dripping from column to column

from every pore with demographic data

I feel your presence in the joint account
your expenditures and wages

I touch them


from Pet Sounds