when I jog the sky
the sky
flips over in puddles
wrong side by my feet.
And I breathe in, I breathe out, I thud
with sneakers and heart
I ache my way past the street signs
knees belligerent, unwilling
to bend so completely
face red: pomegranate red,
early plum, persimmon-y red,
wild chili peper red
red like a sunset
in gathered rain
still they hoot
holler
maraud
my very blood
think I am Snake,
not Monkey
think I am
Harlot
not Hero
(and not everyman’s hero, true.)
they would call Eve
and I would answer-
so these red apple cheeks imply
to Adams cruising by
in broken blue pickup trucks.
(2000)