Pulp by Jasmine Flowers
June, an overripe plum
squished inside a hand
Juice licks my pinkie
while the sun reheats
my skin. Dirt & sweat
mercury my forehead.
A blue rocking horse
watches with one eye.
Plum in palm, I charge
forward. The wet bomb
bursts against his head.
I leave the shrapnel.
I’ve licked my pulp
& skin peels before;
they never taste blue.
june 29th, 2020Jasmine Flowers is a poet, copywriter, and well-watered garden from Birmingham, AL. She received her BA in English from the University of Alabama. Her work has been published in Mineral Literary Magazine. She is still wondering if jasmines should be her favorite flowers. Follow her on Twitter @jas_flow.