Mattress Fire

my new house is nice. you’d like it.

there is 40 pounds of electrical wire in my left hand now.

20 pounds of salad oil in my right. i’m walking down to the curb to leave it all there.

right next to the gallon of old kick flips and cord of abercrombie & fitch holy pants.

we don’t burn books, but i’ve erased the old tenant’s son’s growth chart off the

bedroom wall with a brillo pad.

/

hungry people live around here. they come out at night. they’ll take everything

away, it’s what they do best, like the rest, and the lipstick on my collar is a note

waiting still for last week’s washing. Hi this starving girl says to me one day.

hi, i’ve seen you here. i’ve seen you there. my name is meagan. i say my name is

mattress fire. why not?

my new house is nice, i say. you’d like it. i have a rose in the bedroom and a clean

kitchen and my dirty underwear is in a hamper.

/

i choked back an armani suit i had been meaning to get rid of, an all expenses

paid glenn close style vacation that had been gathering dust i donated for tax

purposes. and she was still touching me. asking me things. such people are

stubborn when hungry. watcha do round about your life it’s stunning

to speak to you she says i’m interested in you. i’m interested she says

i’ve been around, the peace corp changed me a lot she says what do you do?

where did you go to school? i didn’t go to no mattress fire, i say.

that is my name, thinking,

my new name is nice. you’d like it.