Three o’clock a.m. We bought a #9 iron off
the discount rack at the Wal-Mart and
15 bucks in used balls.
I watched the laundry
spinning in the dryer,
my black T-shirts dance,
kiss your boxers on the lips.
I want to slice her deli-thin,
spread her out on some Jewish rye
with Dijon and a bit of hot house tomato.
open-faced, of course.
Naomi Hurtienne was born in Wisconsin and spent the better part of her youth hop-scotching around the United States. For the past decade she has found herself trapped in the depths of the Mississippi heat and has worked hard over the years to try to pin it down on paper.