ZoeBee

You do not sit in front of the Mona Lisa
And wonder what to paint
So why ask me to write a poem
You are already art

I started with red
She started with black
By the end of the night
We made maroon lipstick
 

They called him the piano king
Made of wax and made of varnish
He lived in dining halls and sitting rooms
Just to please the mortal eye
No one ever played him
Out of love
Just out of pride
And now his ghost haunts old pianos

Briseis knew no heroes
Only men and horses and salt
She knew all sorts of thieves and liars and weaklings
Who she lay with and cleaned up after and buried
But Briseis knew no heroes
She knew Achilles
Ever since the platform

Dear teenage girl,
We are supposed to hate each other
"Teenage girls are the worst things on earth" 
Say mothers the day before eighth grade

I realized that I don't write light poetry
It is all fireplaces and smog and oak and leather
I don't write with sunshine and meadows and wheat
My poems are for journals
Not diaries
My spooks are for seances
Not slasher-gore