Whipped
you never see any black skateboarders
my girlfriend’s father says
at the dinner table
already mushy spaghetti turns mushier in my mouth
what a sin
to overcook pasta
mashed, no whipped, potatoes
it seems
is the only thing these people can cook
Kansas
“You’re not from around here”
A woman said, upon walking into a bar in Wichita
Where I ate kettle corn and got drunk
The woman worked at Colemans
Making things like lamps and tents
Things like – everything else
We cried and embraced
Gin slipping down the edges of martini glasses
Rings upon rings
“We used to nail our windows closed!”
The woman shouts over catchy jukebox tunes
Old cigar smoke leaking from the wallpaper
