Self-Portrait at Eighteen Seen at Thirty

Let me rinse your blue hair cut
your bleached tips and butter
your scalp with balm from Bauder’s
they’ll call the cops if you show
so I’ll foot the bill I’ll drive
the Lincoln since it’s past 10:30
I’ll clean the pillow you ruined
writing violets purple martins with dye
and restlessness the landscape
of your sleep mapped here
hang onto one ot these
honor it like a flag and
burn it when you turn twenty-one
these love letters won t mean much now
sorry in advance for the bloody seam
on your left thigh see how it winds
like a garden snake halved with a hoe
sorry for how badly it hurts
to watch the next one in your rearview
I don’t want to give anything away
but here’s a pencil and some paper
here’s a box of Kleenex and a laptop
full of porn I recommend the chicken
ginger let me walk you to your car
you’re drunk where are your keys
later when you write all this down
those are narcissus those are egrets
the word you’re looking for
is pobrecita the phrase you mean
to write is “I know now I will love”
which isn’t false but lets get you
presentable boy because we only
have twelve years to break you open
leave you in a ditch somewhere
and see what crawls out