It’s A Moldy Towel, Dude


Magazines say that
you get to know a girl
from the contents of her bag.
So I grabbed my tote
to see who I am
and was shocked to find…

My worn-out lab coat
(how long has this been here?),
A specimen slide of heaven-knows-what,
Returned exam papers from two semesters ago,
A notebook I lost months ago
(so this is where it has been hiding all along —
between the pages of an overdue library book),
A barbecue stick from the banana cue I had a week ago,
Plastic that wrapped the turon from yesterday
(yes, I love bananas),
Packets of ketchup from McDonald’s,
Several hankies
(I thought I lost them),
Crumpled, faded receipts,
and (drum roll)…

A moldy towel.

A Moldy Towel.

Moldy Towel.

Moldy.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I  have an announcement —

I am now a dude!

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Self-Portrait


Today, I shall make
A portrait
Of this girl—
A lovely, lovely rose—
Smiling sweetly
Back at me.

I stared,
I examined,
This rose
They will soon glorify
For her beauty
That captivates even me.

I see a face,
Perfect as the moon when it’s full.
I see a face,
Like a pearl
Set on coarse black velvet.

I see eyes
Framed by dark lashes,
Veiling two black holes
That can entice any poor soul
Into a never-ending fall
In those deep tunnels
Within dark chocolate irises―
Bittersweet
And sinful.

I see lips
That seem to taste
Like milk and honey.
I see lips
Like blood spilt
On cold snow.

Soon the colors I put on canvas
Will show the beauty of the rose.

My hands gripped the brush tightly,
Clenched by the horror
Of the fact that only I can see
The deadly thorns
Of this rose
Smiling sweetly
Back at me.