Put them all over your ass.
For dance lessons,
you need a spangled
costume. It should be snug,
and have sequins all over the ass.
Jewel tones
are best.
Wonder Woman
is the model,
though her sequins were really shiny gold stars
(all over her ass).
The ass you see is the thing.
If you forget your steps,
at least you shine.
Again
at least you shine.

Meat Dress

I want a dress of meat.
Cured, however.
I want it to be somehow pretty,
and salty,
and sweet.
Red is fine, red will do.
I want it stitched up with big stitches.
I want it to have great lines
and marbling. I want it to be long.
I want the fat to skim
the dirt, the white edges to turn brown.
I want to be jerky.
I don’t want to get caught
in the lurch. I’ll share
my snacks, I’ll be naked under the meat.
The residue of dress
is what you remember, in a reverie:
my mother used to dress me.

Debut

This is mine.
(I am a Candy Striper,
eating hamburgers
and ice cream
in the cafeteria.
My pinafore and all
are too small.
Hate the fat
white dress, the escort,
and dance
[where the people are smiling,
but the talent is idle].
Let me volunteer in the emergency room.
Give me tools to break down.
[Break down: to separate
and clean
the used
and bloody insturments.]
The cuter of the two,
on the TV show Emergency,
was the one named Randolf Mantooth.
I don't want to chat.
Lunch is free.
I eat until I can't anymore.
I quit.)
I am not a debutante. I am your
poet.

Holly is a poet and a museum guard from San Diego, CA. 
her manuscript, Lip, can be found at www.hollyfleming.com.

 Holly

Fleming