Sunday, June 8, 2014

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

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.

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