Next to a bar called duck duck
is a tattoo parlor called goose.
My lens cap clatters to the asphalt.
I think we have enough bananas;
you buy me a yellow bike.
The scab on my knee looks like Japan.
I run for the wrong train. My lens cap
clatters to the asphalt.
What ever happened to that sheet
we bought at IKEA for picnics?
(I want to fuck you on the roof.)
You spit out a ladybug and I think
how lucky it must be, your mouth.
Sarah Huener is a writer and musician from North Carolina. She received her BA from UNC Chapel Hill and her MFA from Boston University. She was a Robert Pinsky Global Fellow in Fall 2013. Sarah’s recent work can or will be found in the Greensboro Review, Crab Creek Review, Salamander, and in the North Carolina volume of the Southern Poetry Anthology (Texas Review Press, 2015). She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and was a finalist for the 2014 Pocataligo Poetry Contest. Sarah reviews poetry for the North Carolina Literary Review.