June, July

the mosquitos are feasting tonight andrea stands up

turns off the radio possessed by trump soundbites

bends over and fills the entire room

with eucalyptus and lemon bug spray

that i mistake for bitters in my bodega paloma

i don’t want her but i want to give her things

or at least refuse all the loosies she gives me

we are thinking of boys who love us too loosely

she makes a bad joke about screwing screwing you

she has a wurlitzer she found on the sidewalk

it’s called a funmachine and it merits that

the wah-wah is sweet hookah smoke the bugs blink

we smile at each other i need to believe

that no one has played this organ like me