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a poem by Kyrsten Bean


I am entranced by
a music video playing
on my computer screen
She is 18 years old
dressed in fuck-me boots
leather climbing from toe to crotch
she is crawling on a table
howling guttural blues
she couldn't possibly understand.

I had my shot, cashed in
my ticket to the prime
for a celebrity fuck instead.

Now I hold the beater guitar I bought
ten years ago
I am number 35
on open mic night
my neck wrinkled,
the skin on my face
not baby soft anymore.

The disenfranchised come running,
they sit at my feet
I count them
1, 2, 3
I've got three pairs of ears
she's got ten million
what does it mean?
what does it mean?

I continue
screaming my own blues.

© by Kyrsten Bean
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #21 ~ May 2012