by Victoria Bosch Murray

Tell you about myself?
What do you want to know?
That I was born in a house
west of the Mississippi
of two lovers with more
desire than sense? That
she had the Asiatic flu
and I couldn't nurse?

I went to school and learned
the times. Ask the bum
on the Red Line, he'll tell
you as much. I liked fattening
food, and beer, and secrets

but couldn't keep them. I
argued politics and football,
resurrection and sex. My lips
chapped in summer and I wondered
where the mystery went. And books,
I liked books, and hated my
brother's wife. I was allergic

to peas. Had a reaction once.
That's me, laid out on the table
slit from stalk to bloom,
innards a freedom trail
of information. Who has time
to see the sights?

2020 Pennsylvania Ave., NW
Ste 443
Washington, DC 20006