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January 8, 2015 Poetry

Four Poems

Sara McGrath

Four Poems photo



my look tonight is Asking For It
a tight vibe is U Can't Have This
I only wanna be in VIP lines & get compliments
god grant me the grace to maintain my delusional sense of grandiosity and false confidence in the face of emotional vulnerability



whenever I go into the bathroom at work
I fear I have stepped into the men's by accident
or I'll find someone
has hung themselves

I would like to see security footage of myself
sipping a diet coke
sitting at my desk
swiping my phone
from above

let me tell you

if I were a boss around here
i'd hold weekly meetings
called Improving the Vibe

every day I hope another cup of coffee will allow me to transcend into another dimension in which we are all our opposites

there is a man who polishes his rock collection every day at lunch
I laughed until I realized
I forgot my lunch today
I forgot to take my vitamins today
I don't have a collection

I want someone to do that thing with the plaster on my face and straws in my nose for the next eight hours



so nice to scream in fright
while hugging
someone's face &
your faces are side by side

that was fun, i think,
the earthquake, i mean

i hid under covers

my only instinct was to make a joke after the fact
the fact being the tragedy
the joke being the fact that i didn't know what the hell to do to protect my stupid skull

the drought, however
is more prolonged
subtle, soft



my sister asked what I'm planning to become when I graduate college.

"a human," I said.

"I hope you don't get fired from that job," she said.

"everyone dies eventually," I recorded her saying, in the backseat of the car
driving back to the beach
her hair and the dog's hair the same color

I took a picture of her in pool water I took a picture of her next to a statue I took a picture of her next to a subway map a cable car a shopping mall my bedroom floor her nails painted blue our faces close together our faces far apart a hat on her head men's shoes on her feet a cartwheel

a bench press a French press a loveseat

everyone dies eventually but there are many small deaths along the way



image: Sara McGrath