This is Not a Poem About How I Can’t Write in Meter

The new coffee maker uses bean pods.
Complicated machinery to jolt
my eyes with butterscotch sunrise flavor,
preparing me for a day at the house
of opera, watching them belt arias.
I use tiny binoculars until I
head back to the motel, take off my jewels,
wipe down the bathtub with disinfectant,
wash rings down the sink, order Pizza Hut,
watch pay per view, then leave in my rental
car to find the outskirts of town and dance
with hobos, mosquitos, and fools in sun
glasses, drinking up the rain that falls slow
to the ground. I have wasted my sonnet.

Odeful

Oh, hallowed sun
in your hallowed halls
of sundom!
How you circle the earth
like a halo!
You shed your light
only for me,
like my nightlight
from yesteryear
when I wet the bed
with fear. Wait,
delete that part.

Oh cloudy cloud,
cover not my sun
for I need its light
to grow. I bask
in it like a lizard,
and if you cover
my sun I will be left
like a lizard
under a bucket
who eats its own tail.
Except I’ll eat a protein bar
instead, because, eww.

Oh sky, blue sky.
You aren’t really
blue right now.
You’re more of
a clear-ish,
off purple color,
like an old blister
from bad shoes.

Rain down on me, sky!
Wash away my sins
and ex-boyfriends
who were really lousy-
wait, I’m out of lines?

Oil Change

My oil change two weeks overdue, I walk in to Wal-Mart
and ask the employee at customer service where to get an oil change.
She points me to the back of the store and I’m relieved to see a desk
with a sign saying, Oil change: $31.88. I ask for an oil change
and the gray haired woman at the desk asks, “Weight and brand?”

I stare.
She stares.
“I need an oil change.”
“Weight and brand.”
“Oil. The normal kind.”
She looks up the weight.
“But you need to choose the brand.”
“What’s the difference?”
She says words I don’t understand.
“The cheaper one.”
She asks for my keys.
“My car is in the grocery parking lot. Where do I need to put it?”
She gives me an I hate you look.
“In the back parking lot, behind the garden center.”
I move my car, bring back my keys,
and settle in on a bench for my over-an-hour wait.

Five minutes later I remember
that my apartment is a two minute walk away.
I walk to my apartment.
I look through my purse.
I look at the door.
I look through my purse.
My keys are at the oil change station.
I go back to Wal-Mart.
The woman at the oil change station looks at me like
Oh my god she’s back
what’s wrong with this girl
is she missing a brain lobe.
I say I need my apartment key.
She gets me my key ring, I take my key off.
I think of saying, I just graduated with honors.
I don’t.
I go back to my apartment
and watch my little pony.

————

Jennifer Recchio is a creature who dwells in the darkness of her parents’ basement and lives off Cheez-Its. When the weather warms, the Jennifer has been known to chase squirrels and run screaming from birds. It has been rumored that the Jennifer has a college degree and a job at a pharmacy like a respectable person, but she denies it adamantly. She’s weak against cookies and glitter pens.