ÖMËGÄ
ORCHID FOOD ❋ Gabrielle Marceau
The Tulips
know I hate them – waited until
I was out to leak and droop and die
all over my books.
A slip of hard dark – then gash red – that was them
talking chemicals last night.
A flower is an animal in reverse –
brain on the bottom, sex organ on top
(tonight he helped me pull off my tights,
my feet in the air).
Fuck those laughing Tulips.
I know they hear me in the kitchen
fumbling around for his glass of water –
they can tell what’s really going on
when I slither back into bed.
But the Orchids are just arching their backs – me, me, me
Folded up – a purple labellum
idling on white sheets.
Plants are alive
their limbs touch the air
and are changed.
Those Orchids are in a bad state –
twisted towards and away from
the window –
they have to listen all night,
to our chemical talk.
I can’t help that my limbs touch his air
and are changed.
We all have to eat:
sometimes he gets full up and snaps
like a cold stem
and in the morning
sticking out my ass – me, me, me
The Tulips say –
hahahahahahahaha