Holly Day
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Violins
Always, always had it worse. One of my bad days
Is a minute in your life. One minute. Experience means nothing
next to your daydreams. Nothing is sacred in your head.
Our love is not a church,
because if it was
We'd be draped head to toe in white robes, always
And not just that one day.

sometimes I think I'm lost without your sickness
a hard rule to set my own life against
I have tried so hard to smooth over rough edges
that I did not cause and can not heal. If our love was a church,
you could look into my eyes, and I into yours
wouldn't have to do everything with the lights off,
fists clenched tight.

*          *          *

Underground Tubers
sometimes when I'm madly masturbating
I think about what it would be like
to be a man, to have a cock, this thick
hard piece of throbbing rubbery meat
swinging to and fro, bumping into things
insinuating itself into everything from love to lunch

my crazy imaginary penis has this need to
be pushed into things, pulled out of things
unclogging drains and investigating cisterns
waving traffic through intersections and
rescuing crying kittens treed in trees

and sometimes when I'm madly masturbating
I imagine the ecstasy of shoving that hard cock
into something alive, not just funnel cakes filled with fresh cream
not just flannel hats or leather shoes or scotch tape rolls
but something twitchy, and warm, and wet
what it would be like to ram and thrust
instead of always being the catcher

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Holly Day is a freelance writer living in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with her husband and two children. Her newest books are Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, and Walking Twin Cities.