I’ve always been a Mustang girl,
but this—
cherry red
and just my size,
caught my eye,
turned my head, full throttle.
Oh, little red
prince,
you’re a sweet-tooth-ache
parked sugar daddy, solid, timeless—
and I’m still young and free
and cruise-ready
to coddle.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
Photo © 2025 Jennifer Wagner
dVerse Quadrille 227: a poem of exactly 44 words including some form of the word “turn”
On the menu:
chocolate cakes.
Two, to be exact.
One with espresso in the batter, one
without.
One apple cake, one apple crisp.
One chocolate chip banana bread.
I am making these,
which I do not eat.
Pretzel peanut butter cookies are next,
or your mom’s pistachio bundt,
or pumpkin spice cupcakes,
some with sprinkles, some
without.
I will probably not eat much of them either.
Strangely, I am baking as if they are
for repast post funeral, attempts
at forgetting your superpowers,
the ones that always weakened,
arrested me.
Still wanting you to hold me,
settling for within,
but
without.