Amanda Pszczolkowski
MANDY
Mandy is beautiful and she kisses me
and this is why I love her. I love that
her hair smells good and that her smile
fails to offend me. I love that she is not
like other girls. I love that she is
a lady. I love that I am the only one
who gets to call her Mandy, I love that
I’m the only one who gets to grab her
by the throat, that word for me
and the front counter barista’s pen.
If she were to bare teeth across every booth
in America when someone asks
has she ever been called that before
that saccharine No could waterboard me
like an ant trap. I’d be comatose, Mandy,
and it is your fault. You did this. Mandy, stop
digging in the flower bed; your nails
will get dirty. Those bruises on your knees
were mine and the pew’s, so get up, Amanda.
God, would you look at yourself?
I thought you were cool.