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"How you know you'e with the wrong man"
Jennifer Borek

“It really isn’t sexy,”
he confided
straightening his tie at the mirror,
“that you were raped
by your father.
A priest,
now that would be interesting.”

The pomegranate lip liner –
containing antioxidants –
goes on slowly
the shaking
or maybe I should say “trembling”
makes outlining a bitch.

“It really isn’t sexy,”
he pronounces,
buffing his Stacy Adams,
“when you dance
with your brother.
He’s such a klutz.”

This eyeshadow contains
minerals from the earth
protecting my skin
brown, gold, grey,
earth tones, I think.
Steady now, the liner
Perfect arc.

“It really isn’t sexy,”
he intones
unbuttoning the RL double-breasted
“when you flirt
with the waitstaff.”

The olive oil is cold
and satisfying
on my cheeks, eyes, and lips
the nutrient-rich mask comes off
with everything else.

“Every 43 hours a baby dies in Memphis.”
Jennifer Borek

Down the hill from middle class back yards
Filled with plastic playthings
A garden that grows round, silver name plates
stretches for several acres.
The occasional ball and bat or stuffed dog
sit, sometimes with a photo.
The backhoe slowly covers wooden loaves of bread.
Six today. 

The words from the antiseptic blonde anchor
announces our shame.

About the author:
Jennifer Borek teaches English methods and inclusionary practices at The University of Notre Dame.  A busy mother of four and wife of a retired attorney who lives in a former rectory with a quarter acre organic garden, she publishes articles on supporting students with disabilities in the English classroom as well as poetry.

Jennifer Borek pictured with her husband