By Kathi Wolfe
via the Poetry Foundation
Whitman is a foot-long sub
of grass-fed beef,
Falstaff, a fat onion ring,
Ophelia, a wailing wine.
Judas Iscariot’s kiss
turns my lips against themselves.
Emily D makes my tongue
want to fly a kite.
The tongues of angels,
I cannot swallow.
Source: Poetry (February 2016)
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