Three poems by Misti Rainwater-Lites

Shades of Winona Ryder

joy of a new radiator

joy of a successful blow job

joy of clean laundry, closeted 

fuck the ninja that slices our best intentions

fuck the carpenter that refuses to nail my feet to your floor

dreams rock you too many seas away

from my curio shelf

so I sit with the fleas slurping burnt sienna coffee

with my wookie head

my ogre toes

everything closed for business

to detract nimble fingers

and perverse purveyors

of self-inflicted glamour shots

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Lost Letter To Dr. Romo

The fuck permeates the Kia.

You know the one.

It isn't purple.

It isn't a chicken flauta.

It will never inhabit Alamo Heights.

Still. Galletas and orange trees

and cowboy boot stomp down the sidewalk

that leads to the Dollar Tree

in Eagle Pass.

All that makeup for a Benadryl run to the Valero.

Idiot's Guide To Texas Hold 'Em.

Too many secrets for one sandy bed to hold.

South Padre Island.

The summer of 1999.

Baby, we were there.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cupcake Pajamas

I look hot in these pink cupcake pajamas.

I am hot in these pink cupcake pajamas.

This advertisement does not lie.

I'm not here to trick you into any kind of tangle.

I don't want to knock on your door

under the pretense of borrowing a cup of sugar.

Do people still pull that shit?

Do witches still inhabit houses made 

of gingerbread and chocolate?

My ex-boyfriend/current common law husband/favorite distraction

calls me La Brujita.

I don't think

he's being

specious.

Author bio: 

Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of such books as Bullshit Rodeo, Nova's Gone Potty, Bunny Man and Connubial Blistered. She brings too much trouble to too many tacos.