Jaymee Thomas Poet Free verse

naturally protective reflex

   Mayonnaise in my mouth; 
it was turkey—the first Pollack 
I saw. His fault that the splatter 
looked like a forgotten egg on the side. 

  Walking toward the waste 
basket, I threw up in it after. 
It tasted like sour metal 
with rusty, iron edges. 
At the sides of it, not worth 
the gold tooth it's loosening 
now. Thinking on it makes me 
nervous, like it's going to be poison 
soon. 

  I cannot avoid it, even if I wanted 
to now, even though I wasn't sure 
that was the kind of optimistic take 
I was looking for at the time. The way 
to turn even the worst of times into best 
of whatever your feckless heart has—
just use it now because no one 
is at the deck taking down tallies 
for the sake of it. Please, 

just give over; express the things 
you have been saving. Hoarder of life 
and things and collections of it all, 
as a collector of it all, as a curator 
of it all, as if you even have a stall 
that would ever fit it all in, for jesus
sake. And that's all it ever would be 
or ever would be not had you not hitched 
it to the big part of yourself that thought 
something in there was real and really in 
there, ready for a real repair, as only 
the cosmos can do for those that are 
ready for it.

Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Revise and be ready for it.

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