Spoons

I was kidnapped

in burlap.

Thrown into the river.

You can't see

the bottom.

Dirty water.

I may never be

your baby's mama.

Gonna lie in bed

and listen to Johnny Cash.

I'm not sure,

but it might be raining.

You itch me

like old wool.

You lift your head,

and little,

chalky candies

pop out of your throat.

You don't like country music,

but you wash you hands

with soap.

A praying mantis.

You are rare and bizarre.

You'd try to swim in

a bowl of soup.

Treading water

next to noodles.

Watch out for spoons.

Bird houses have

tiny doors

and I am tall.

Build me a houseboat

with high ceilings,

and we'll sail

the soup pot together.

I'll go fishing for carrots

while you crank the anchor

down.

We can drift for awhile.

Give me a ladle.

No,

give me a slotted spoon.

I can scoop out

what I want of you.

I woke up last night

with feet hanging

off the bed.

Like I was ready to run.

Or maybe comfort

makes my mind

too complacent.

I needed cold feet

to have the right kind

of dreams.

I won't ever

be your trophy,

but I'll try to

gleam a little.