This morning, a hearse refused to

let me inno room in his damned lane,

or perhaps, his fare held a higher obligation

a pressing engagement, no doubt.

God knows, the dead can be stiff tippers.


As the driver hauled (cold) ass past,

metallic spikes spun from the center

bore of each twenty-inch rima lofty

investment, surely the remnants of a medieval

flail or a morning star now sparing

death from lifeeither way,

a hell of a lot cheaper than a personalized

license plate: X F K W/ M E.

I braked                paused

and perused the hues in the rearview,

postponing the moment to merge with those

who careen toward their exitsleft and right,

lowered and raisedon course for their havens

some otherwhere, any otherwhere.


Have you ever watched a one-armed woman peel a banana?


Let me tell you:

the scene plays as a practice in patience.


It cant be too ripe; one hand has less touch (than two).


She pinches the stem

between her thumb and her

index finger, squeezing the fibers

with a dire need for potassium that splits

the thick      yellowy lime green peel

harder deeper            longer

until juice drips from the widening slit.

And then, flesh. BANANA FLESH!

                                               First, just the tip

of her finger feels the gooey insides,

but then her knuckle drags along the

fruit, ripping open a seam of chewy



Its meat is in her palm now,  

partially mashed, but ready to be taken

between her lips

the bruised (and used) peel

abandoned on the floor.

She lifts her hand to

her mouth and dives in

(with her tongue), licking

then biting lumps of amber until

her hand is fruitless, and her mouth (and

lips and chin) resemble Van Goghs self-



I wonder if (and how) she washed her hand


When she holds the door for you,

you should realize         shes giving you

(always giving everything)

all she has.


Is anything more absurd than this?



that you require two

to do the same.


Matty Layne is a political pixie of a poet whose queer little ditties have twittered & flittered & found homes at TheNewVerse.News and This Week in Poetry. He is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing & Environment at Iowa State University. Feel free to tweet him or follow his lavender-scented pixie wings @Matty_Layne.