2 Poems

by Wendy Taylor Carlisle

Bloodthirsty

Rita and I were bloodthirsty girls. Wearing plastic
Roy Rogers holsters, we overrode the range,
shoplifted Evening in Paris from the Woolworth's downtown,
dabbed it on and galloped the streets, pumping our Schwinns
until we were sweaty and rank. We shot 'em up.
We never balked at murder, blasting the well-groomed
Judys on the playground straight to hell! Ka-pow!

On Saturday we waited to buy tickets
to the Dania Theater matinee. In line, we tussled,
we swore, we spit wads of paper at the other kids,
our crime spree only stopped by the velvet ropes
we stood behind, panting, impatient to be let in
to the cool dark where we could find
one of the hick boys we hated all week, and neck.

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I Got Him a Shirt

I got him the red shirt
but he got his own belly
and we promised not to
go back until we'd had enough
of what was out there for us
but we did anyway
Mexico in a magazine
always signaled to us
and when the plastic suitcase
gave way, we were still
struggling with the stones
rattling in our shoes, like
I told Marie, love is
something you do
not something you feel.

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Wendy Taylor Carlisle lives in Texas. Her second book, Discount Fireworks, winner of the Blackgrove Award, is due this January from Jacaranda Press. For winter, her work appears in Salt River Review http://www.poetserv.org/ and 2River View and is forthcoming for spring in Cider Press Review.