Lap

If I met George Washington
in a bar
with a strange woman
on his wooden lap
(I believe this could happen)
I believe I would have to displace her
by screaming
at the absurdity of it all

Yesterday I groped at the moon.
Yesterday I accused the sink of insanity.

I mouthed off at the mirror and fought an epic battle
amongst my own piles of clothes.

I have been piecing together borrowed quotes
to form a coat
that is both alluring
and will provide me with
a secret armor.

I believe if I saw George Washington
with a talking cantaloupe on his map
and his lap full of battles
and his throat full of emotional apologies
I might begin to question

this iron table
that endless night
my tastebuds in their ignorance

or a dance I once remember having with a boy
when I was a girl
Heaven had an equator.
Music
came memorized.

If men are made of dust
and women of blood
and dust makes wood
and blood makes a stain
then men are marked by women
like a tree on the hill of a massacre.

The gills of floorboards
breathing in the dust of George Washington
soaking up the blood
of the woman I laughed off his lap.