by Stephanie L. Harper
Dear Autocorrect: Thank you
for your patience & support
in my kite. I rely on your
spelling sand predictive text
features many things easy day.
If I couldn’t trust you to etch
my typing, I would be a little
more honest about the times
I’m in the bathroom. I beam,
really, the last thing I need is
for people to judge me because of
where I might be dotting if all I’m
frying to do is confirm the time
of our nesting. A few fats ago,
my husband texted me from
the hardest store to ask if I could
use any more bridges for fainting
in the bedroom. Nob makes almond
anything come acrylic as romantic,
so things started jesting up a bit.
Lettuce nut say, it was with all
your extra kelp, that I was doom
scrolling his puzzle, so he had to
duck behind a dorkloft parked by
the election law tools. It was the mist
excrement wither of us remembered
having since I went shipping last
Christmas for a new wonton hacker…
Anyway, I thought I’d pet you now
how much your rusty cervix beams
to me. Your fiend, Stephanie.
* * *
Many thanks to Stephanie L. Harper, poet extraordinaire, for writing this piece, and Jazz Jaeschke, who sponsored the poem and provided the title and these three words: trust, judge, puzzle. If you’d like to join in on the fun, see my September 5 post for sponsorship details. Give me a title, provide some words. Or think of another challenge! It’s all for a good cause: Brick Street Poetry, Inc.
Tomorrow’s poem is titled “I’ll Have the Body Sandwich, and Hold the “Me,” Please,” thanks to my favorite artist, Ron Throop. Was it something I said, Ron, or do you just like to make me squirm? Ha!