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Second Mouth

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Other-lips     whispering     between my legs.
What they called black hole     not-thing
is really packed full of secrets.     A rebel mouth

testifying from the underside.     Careful
not to let it     speak too loudly.     Only hum
demure     in polite company — never laugh

or spit on the sidewalk     or complain
lest we both be dragged     under the wheels of
one of those.     Or worse     coddled

smiled at     as at a lapdog acting wolf.
Or worse     called ugly     a cruel joke. Or — 
there are always     worse things.

Too many messengers     shot.     But then
who wouldn’t fear     an eyeless face
whose ghost stories     always     come true?

Source: Poetry (March 2014)

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This poem originally appeared in the March 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

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Second Mouth

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