Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Flaming Pears

Right now
I wish I had something
to sell.
A Bible.
A drink.
A tube.
Sure, I can hope.
We both know a pound of grass
and a box of candy
can get you to Mexico and back,
but I want more than French Wine,
Keats
and a young boy from L.A.
How strange,
being in the chair,
waiting for the drill,
praying for the needle.
I hate the needle.
I like weather.
I like rain.
I like the thick clouds that roll in at night
and cover the city
quicker than the plague.
The box cutter
ripping into cardboard,
exposing the gifts,
the beautiful virginal gifts.
Some day the blue Madonna will be mine
and I will hide in a house in Beverly Hills
and dance to whatever I want.
And all the lies I’ve told myself
will disappear
like shapeless
walnuts.
I will no longer be
the girl
who cried strawberries
and lace.
My eyes,
breasts,
tongue,
and pears in the Waterford bowl
will burn in water.
Finally.