Theory of Lipstick
                    Coral is far more red than her lips' red …
                                                      -Shakespeare

Pot rouge, rouge pot, glosser, lip plumper, bee
stung devil’s candy and painted porcelain
Fire and Ice, a vermillion bullet,
dangerous beauty lipstick, carmine death rub, history
of henna.  Fact: more men get lip cancer

because they don’t wear lipstick or butter,
jumble of a luminous palette with brush made
to outlast, last long, kiss off,  you ruby busser,
your gilded rose bud bluster is weapon and wine.
QE’s blend: cochineal mixed with egg, gum Arabic

and fig milk – alizarin crimson and lead – poison
to men who kiss women wearing lipstick, once illegal
and loathsome – then cherry jellybean licked and smeared,
then balm gloss crayon, a cocktail of the mouth
happy hour lip-o-hito, lip-arita, with pout-fashioned chaser

made from fruit pigment and raspberry cream,
a lux of shimmer-shine, lipstick glimmer, duo
in satin-lined pouch, Clara Bow glow: city brilliant
and country chick -- sparkling, sensual, silks
and sangria stains, those radiant tints and beeswax liberty--

oh, kiss me now, oh, double agents of beauty
slip me essential pencils in various shades
of nude and pearl and suede, oh, bombshell lipstick,
sinner and saint, venom and lotsa sugar, lip sweet,
pucker up gelato: every pink signal is a warning.

Credits: Verse Wisconsin 2010; Express Milwaukee (online) 2.13.2011; Pushcart Prize XXXVI: Best of the Small Presses: 2012

Berserk 
 after June Jordan

You bring out the Norski in me
the lefse and lutefisk
(which you won’t eat)
fiskesuppe meatballs in cream
krumkake sandkake
strong coffee poured in saucers
rosettes, rommegrot rullepolse
in me

You bring out reindeer
running fjords deer skinner at dusk
the deep blue
sugar
the red sunset and wool sweater
belled apron cloudberry
the Syttende Mai in me

uf dah
uf dah

You bring out the icy nights the dark
stars on fire Aurora Borealis the bear
and dipper the silver belt and apron too
the swish swish
ski pole
the telemark turn the snap bindings
in me

uf dah
uf dah

You bring out the Hallingdal in me

the acanthus curls, the scroll 
the Rogalund 
stroke fantasy flowers
the trunks 
and tines in me

Even so, Thor the thunderer
of longships with naked woman prow
bearskin Drakkar
poison mushroom man

I will not be your dog or slave
not follow before the flame 
Nei takk 
I will not
burn in your eternal ship

You better find 
someone else 
to knit your mittens

Sonneshien


Eddie used to say that a day
without sauerkraut was like a day
without sunshine.  I wonder
what he’s thinking now
that scientists have discovered
that chickens, suffering
from bird flu, were
miraculously cured
when fed ground kraut. 
Eddie served kraut
with brats and Reubens
and fat country style ribs. 
He even put it into a cake,
a batter so rich and fudgey
the tart strings melted right in.
So now I imagine legions of chickens
mill about, wearing tiny lederhosen
waiting to get their daily dose. 
I imagine Eddie, too, his big head,
bald as trimmed cabbage,
his briny smile,
his meaty hand shading
the sun from his sweet-sour eyes.