After Work
Maggie Millner

The time it takes to find a banana
in my backpack is half
a mayfly’s lifetime   a fact
I’m too aware of as I eat it
in my car    I pretended
to fellate one years ago    for a boy
with a beard and a mirror  behind him
    while I wait here for the blinding aura
of my migraine to abate I do it
in the rearview:    lick the peel
    push the stem into my throat  like a walrus
I saw suck his own cock    in a cinderblock igloo
at a zoo    I am tired of these lights
flicking on inside my veins   of my bile’s
acid taste    but the constellated beams
in my reflection    look like flashbulbs
of a paparazzo watching me write
something beautiful     on my banana
    with my tongue