In the shower I rinse
all the good men
the nice men
the well-meaning and gentle
men who have done me
right over the years
from my skin.
They slip off—
slicking over my neck,
breasts, hips, taking
their gifts: gumballs,
jars of mustard,
a free car wash.
Under the pelt
of scalding drops
I become
stripped bark,
root stalk.
I peel my plated
kindness,
become the autumn gingko
shedding
its every gold leaf
in a single day.
See the sweep
of my yellow skirt
how it dusts my feet
with coins, turns to rot
then dirt.
My bark foils woodpeckers
repels the nuthatch
poisons green lacewings,
my seed smells
like vomit.
At my feet,
on your knees,
rear back
catch a glimpse
of my topmost branch.
Brave the climb, and I’ll snap your neck
like tinder
when you fall from one of my
graceful thumbs.
