you’re too much waist in time.
you’ve been renting a room in the wrong house
and your bill was late. you’re bent on audit.
you’re auditory, gotten notice after
the fact of certain.
you are seven of the thinnest dimes I’ve ever seen
and even at one stroke. you are a Mabe of all seasons, a dog of one.
you’re all bonkity-bonk and diddity-doo the kind that don’t
bite back.
you’re that bigger-than-the-both-of-us brand of file
in the cake
and featherweight.
you back against the wall and forever back
after these messages
you will not sway me with your swamp thing smile
and sorcery-less sword,
your whispers swindle.
you’re the wrong swine for this truffle
and it’s been too long.
too much trouble.
you dine on the wills of men
I will not abide, and you will not attend.
you will not attend the Death Star Disco.

Mia Wright’s poetry has appeared in Watershed, Living Arts of Tulsa Kubos-Tesserat Chapbook, Word Riot, and Blammo, and on countless restaurant napkins. Wright is a Tulsa native.