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Fawn Parker is from Toronto. Her collection Looking Good and Having a Good Time was published by Metatron Press in 2015. She is co-founder of BAD NUDES Magazine.

2 poems by Fawn Parker


Four men in orange across the freeway

Tree scraps into a woodchipper


My throat, the back of my hair
             in Bushwick

You are right
It’s all contrived

Three Wednesdays go by
before I recycle the bottles

Some days I will eat for you
But mostly I won’t.

Some days it will burn inside
and make me nauseous

A red stain on the cotton
All of your hair in the bathroom trash

A drunk in Chez Claudette
shouting, Prince Is Not Dead!





I’ve been collecting your ex-girlfriend’s bobby pins 
from the cupboards and between the floorboards,
bending them into dancing legs.

I’ve been looking at her
yellow bush
in your iPhoto library.

Crying to you when you’re home
and touching myself while you’re out.

I think daily about middle age.

I’ll be overweight, I figure

but I keep it at bay with constant movement.

Leaping from the furniture like a cat in the dark.

I throw up most days and call my mother.

Two images have stayed with me
since childhood:
What they are is of no importance to you.

Symbols are symbols of nothing,

Mikhail Iossel says,
and waves my paper in my face.

The Solway Firth Spaceman
is just an overexposed woman in a sundress.

I’ve been having dreams about marrying you.
I’ve been having dreams about babies
and it means nothing.

I try to feed them my tits and they hiss at me.

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