By Christine Reilly

you can only stray so much

 

it’s in your genes

hiding behind your ears growing up

 

it’s in your genes

the first taste, whirligig dance of sweet green-grape wine

 

it’s in your genes

drinking in circles, honeysuckle in your backyard

 

it’s in your genes

to be addicted to circles, once is never enough

 

a certain blood-polished romance, the texture

of an ovum and the pornographic etiquette

of a full moon.  provided you’re drunk enough

 

(it’s in your genes) to spit out a peach pit and from it,

draw a kaleidoscopic heart.

 

it’s in your genes

just like your father, who now will live to be two-hundred

years longer without the bottle, once he broke the circle,

once he substituted one vice for organ-playing and swears he’s never felt healthier

 

it’s in your genes

you’re in the center of the sun

the center of the sphere, dead fruit bearer.

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Posted by Mel. View all posts by Mel
Friday, July 1st, 2011 7:55 am
Categories: Issue 5.1, Poetry