Nasty Girls

We are the nasty girls, biting things to watch them wince—
puppy tails to warty toads. We smack our gum to the count
of gecko necks, plucking pet store parrots on the sneak.
We want to hear those big birds screech, want to see

their turtle tongues, thick and strong for busting nuts.
We nasty girls are stitched with chicken wire and paper
clips, laced with sumac sap and fetid fruit juice. We dance
atop fire ant hills, arms thrown wide, beating dirt back.

We sting like sticks and bees, dig in like fleas and ticks.
Nasty girls give parrot feathers to that crazy boy, the one
who sews them up with wax. We want to watch him fly.
That crazy boy thinks he’ll fly, he croons and coos, but

we know he won’t. We steal feathers for him anyhow—
we want to see it when he tries.

Copyright © 2006 D.O. Moore All rights reserved
from The American Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission