DRECK

LEAH TOLEDANO

I DIDN'T RECITE THE PRAYERS AND THIS TIME I WASN'T SCARED

My armpits grow
fragrant
trolling the button-down-underneath-sweater duo
I planned on wearing
again to work tomorrow
obscuring the last trace
of girlishness, my perfume,
which was front
and center for
my extended family
as I gesture with a limp wrist
whispering formalities
and recent whereabouts in code

It is not that I
forgot to apply deodorant
It is just that I
ran out of the good one

I think things of this sort
as I am positioned
in front
of an open casket
viewing a seventy
year old man’s body that
looks like an orange
glazed doughnut
fit for a child
beauty pageant

I mumble to sister
he belongs in
Madame Tussauds
and butcher the sign
of the cross

I offer to read a verse
during mass
restraining giggles as
the priest squirts
his holy water onto
the casket which
is escorted by seven
veiny Italian men
from Queens

I notice how
comfortable they have grown
in those black suits
envisioning them boasting
about their large testicles

That awkward moment when
I am alone
in the pew
refusing communion
destiny exposed
fate torn open

One of the bald
big balls
is assigned
to drive us in the limo
trailing behind the hearse

He asks if we are ready
before putting on
tinted aviators
I feel myself cruising
watching his tattooed fist hit
the turn signal

When we land inside the cemetery gates
I glance over at the
seasoned grave diggers
impatiently waiting for
us to say our farewells
then I wonder if they
finger blast each other
at the end of their shifts
for they know life is short

At the top of the graveyard
flanked by limestone crosses
I look around and imagine my life
masculinized
uncompromised
on the back
of a motorcycle


UNTITLED (COMING OF AGE PLAY)

                ACT ONE

            Doc
Jocelyn oh and her soft beach waves
her three onse rings you study the

history of the memory's
totalitarian leader.
Your ultimate lover. Father.

Found a Mental Health and Wellness
Center. She asks how it feels to
know all of the things wrong in your

body.

                ACT TWO

a poor inferior fetus
victim why me why me or a
strong bodycon power icon.

                ACT THREE

                                                tired
of being harder, you wanted
to try on mother. To live as

her is to love her. To hate less
this girly terrycloth halter
dress with leggings underneath it.

Sequin scarf. Writing to god like
you are an anxious fucking leech.
Praying for a moment of peace.

You look and act no differently
from the first time you made him take
accountability. You did

threaten him. He could no longer
hurt you. Embody masculine
authority. Peep toe wedges.

Metallic purse. Coming of Age
Play. Divorced yourself from their hair
texture. Unrecognizable

family member. I hate you.
I hate you Father. Son. Holy.
You yes you who asked your parents

to buy you your agency. You
took yourself more seriously.
I want a puppy. I want some

technology. Like teal ipod.
Nano. Mini. Shuffle. Touch. Now
daddy. In that order. Do you

still fight him through lovers? You spoiled
brat. Body fat. You embody
different modalities. How much

of this is about her as it
is about him, you ask. It makes
sense, Jocelyn said. Yes. To work out

perpetual domestic and
systemic disempowermennt,
you unfairly assign someone

else the position. With her you
have done so. Oh. Feel so weary.
She becomes enemy. You, a

helpless force. Suffer. Softer. Look
past things. More docile. You god's girl.
Let go. Surrender control. Just

like a mother who ignores the
horrors. To try victim complex.
To hurt. To beg. To pacify

your needs. To never leave. Kiss me.


SHOPPING SPREE, DADDY

Ah!
I’m a baby!
chirped the baby
crawling on the
carpet in the
Barnes and Noble
outlet store
I am happy
baby too with
legs spread neon
for an interesting
price-slashed
book of poetry
it makes me
crawl all over
the damn place the
mint green echo
the peplum memory
when daddy would
take me he’d watch
me handle the littler
kids in the kiddie
section bossy cardigan
gelled up bitch
Ray Ban frames with
a side bang problem
a self-loathing problem
a reassurance-seeking
problem when I
feel
delicate
every day is
nostalgia trip
protective of
the narrative
assuming danger
before any danger
I betrayed myself
before he did
after playing kiddie
he takes me to
personal finance and
investment section
to show me the money
you are
too smart to
not cashflow
Leah
first born
destined for another
success story
Robert Kiyosaki
Rich dad
Poor dad
refusing the latter
a self-made
self-professed escape
artist nevermore
the shootouts
the crack house
tales of rescuing
his addict
baby sister
doctor T.
take
me to the mall
show me how
far you’ve come
rags to riches
Lemony Snickett
Charlotte Russe
glazed over
mall eyes
2013 shopping spree
coping treat
buy me poetry

Leah Toledano is a writer and visual artist based in Portland, Oregon. Her most recent poems and visual art can be found in Lurch, Ethics, exquisites, and elsewhere. Her short films can be found on Vimeo. You can find Leah irl hosting a reading series called Mental Peace Poetry in PDX. Visit leahtoledano.com if you’d like more.