Poem by Jennifer Blackledge

December 15, 2023

Love poem

You won’t get any love poems out of me.
That ship has sailed, as they say, or run
aground. Now it’s just ribs bleached on the beach;
all structure, no fat. I met you when I was
tired of being careful, in the mood to
scratch furniture, smudge walls, dribble olive
oil down my favorite shirt. It felt good
to stretch and destroy, pop those stitches
on our good coats and not care. Now, though,
it’s late and I’m mopping up the shrapnel of
a five-year love bomb, a flash-bang of gold
and glitter that we’ll find in the baseboards
decades on. Hold my beer: I’ll blow this all up,
no sparkle, all smoke. You won’t lift a finger.

About Jennifer Blackledge

Jennifer Blackledge is a poet who works in the automotive industry and lives just south of Detroit and just north of Canada. She holds a BA from Michigan State University and an MFA from Brown University. Her work has appeared or will soon appear in JAMA, I-70 Review, Medmic, The Lake, Verdad, Scientific American, and elsewhere.

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