Poet Laundry

  Like dropped white petals in the Colonel’s yard, lie wing bones and feathers—   cat, coyote, or desert skunk, having taste...

  You were fishing for me—   sliding your hand along my dorsal and tail fins,   my dark olive hair, my golden throat.   ...

    I’ve always been a Mustang girl,   but this— cherry red and just my size,   caught my eye, turned my head, full throttle...