Poem by Yonit Bousany

Illustration by James Conant



A God poem

               Watching me spit out the chewed-up cap,
flip the pen over, and continue gnawing on the tail end,
he says,
               I like God poems.
I smile and glance down at my notebook
blotted with crimson lipstick,
echoing with Sanskrit chants,
the Capital Letters of buttons
pinned to Woodstock jean jackets.
               Hell, I steal in that notebook,
I dishonor my parents,
I sleep with my neighbors and then their wives.
I say “hell” and don’t think I’m going there.
                              He is still gazing at me.
                              I look up and
                                             feel something.
Then my mouth fills with blue ink
               and I spit up over the table.