It’s the First Day of June

POETRY

By Moriel Rothman-Zecher

Outside, a thunderstorm.

Ice water and ice cream.

Our 15-yurt commune is dissolving into acrimony and acorn flour.

My dog was sent to a canine inn whose sign flashes neon purple, All Dogs Welcome.

He is a 160-pound dingo, so they might kick him to the curb before the weekend is done.

My well-muscled legs are in the process of converting to tentacles.

Lightning once struck my first love and he gained the ability to do an ollie.

You don’t have to believe me.

I reread the teaching application I submitted in a fog of financial panic. There are so many typos it looks like a scam email:

Hi I’m Moriel! and I just need 80 dollars for a ticket on the only dollars to professor of Emblish I am stranded?

My daughter is asleep in the other room.

The vegan ice cream leaves a weird taste in my mouth.

Ice water is proof of god, rain through the thick green leaves.

Before bedtime I remind my kid that god sometimes uses she/ her and they/them pronouns.

She tells me I’d better not let him hear me say that.

Next year I drive to my new teaching job in Jerusalem, PA.

Over Route 86, a billboard:

Lost? Jesus will give you a ride home.