By Alyssa Pickarts
The disgusting algae attached to
my mother’s favorite porch window
makes me wanna gag.
The bioluminescent green
looks like my father
‘s fungi foot.
“It’s called Athletes Foot.”
Shut up, you hag.
I’m an atomic bomb waiting to go off.
Gilded in my failures and in
They play with me like the guy
On silver spoons.
Whatever happened to good radio?
Does no one listen to the buttery
sounds of Elvis anymore?
My favorite color is black.
The eyes of my mother branding
the windowsill is curling
my toes and pointing my neck hairs.
I’m pretty sure The King’s favorite
color is green.
Alyssa Pickarts is a junior at the University of Maine at Farmington where she focuses on Studies in Genre. Originally from Littleton, Colorado, Alyssa finds poetry to be her secret love and most guilty pleasure. Next to her incredible fasciation for music in every genre, in every decade.