L. Scully
Summer 2025 | Poetry
My Mammal
We’re all just writing in circles about
the price of eggs. Should have barnsnatched protein
the day I paid to ride a horse. Her name,
The Resident Blonde. Fuzzy beauty
of your girlfriend makes you embarrassed so
you tell me not her, I can’t even look.
I relish the awkward. Victoria’s
Secret husbands. Jumbotron proposals.
Doing a little too much tell, no show.
Eating cheese, spider in my petticoat.
Perhaps I am becoming too old
to be groomed! Your girl was born like a foal,
she just dropped out! This is not a poem about
desire. It’s about what money gets you.
L Scully is a living writer. Proof of aforementioned life can be found at lscully.com.