Alex Behr

Sacred Order of Evonne Goolagong

I want to be a tennis racquet My gut strong out all gut strong out STRUMGSTRUMG

strong strung out tot TAUT

gripped by my mother, slicing Mommy, your backstroke was brutal

That funk funk THOMK THOMK THUNK

sweet spot, arc me above you, pom-pom socks, hip curves and deep sweat pits

My throat is my heart

My intestines, strung out across my frame

Spin me on my head to see which daughter I will be The one you taught to curtsy

Or the one who dates a junkie

End the supination Start the pronation

Drop shot pivot

zip ZIP zip me up Drink wine spritzers

All Apologies

You can say—You’re a little shit You’re a shit writer

You seem like a babysitter

I wish you hadn’t adopted me

You can say—Why aren’t you rich? Why did you divorce Dad?

You can say to Dad— Make the right choice and stay with Mom

I say—I am sorry

You say—I’m not a caring person

I care about having fun

You say—Pirates always give their moms hugs

We’ll get so shiny with soap that sparks will come

off our bodies

Spectacle

—of secret friends you can’t see Dad will build a fire and hold up a spoon. And see them and shoot them and then they will be dead

***

—of a woman wearing an “I Love My Husband” t-shirt. Its arrow points left, but to the left is the ocean

***

—of the subway ride. The grandpa leans in to look at the map. The boy kisses him on the butt

***

—of the cousin who snorts air fresheners. His girlfriend and her friend drink Coca-Cola, crushed aspirin, and a shot of nail polish remover. “Desperado” plays on the turntable and the two girls sob