A Poem for a Monday

I had a dream once that I was mostly naked and hanging out with friends like nothing was out of the ordinary. This poem was inspired by that. And thinking about those awkward, angst-prone teenagers I saw at the concert the other night, it seemed fitting to include this one for my Monday poem (and it's probably appropriate that it's my only poem that includes an f-bomb). So this goes out to them...

Blue Nude No. 1 At Breakfast

All of my friends were there

in my new studio apartment

with 30 foot ceilings and bricks

and wood floors, two fireplaces.

It was morning, I was grinding

kona coffee, toasting

pop-tarts, wearing nothing

but sea blue underwear.

And no one minded, my morning

breasts bouncing around the kitchen,

always a step ahead, as if it

happened all the time.

Often we tell ourselves to hold back,

stand straight, suck in, sound smart.

Is it any wonder loneliness reigns

and lives are mistaken?

I imagine beauty as an ice storm,

the rain’s way of saying

here I am, come see

a moment crystallized.

So what if I did unveil

the mammary orbs, the flesh,

squirt milk in coffee, no sugar please.

There is a time to stop being

modest,

say fuck it,

say it loud.