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That friend that starved you after school: a saltine nightmare


of chickens don't know when they're dead.

In the brothel
shred zucchini very thin
STORE IN A COOL, DRY PLACE.

But — if I stained my Apron —

narrowing by which a squirrel shucks a spruce
A bird dabbed me, a virgin soil, as I issued

Could I clean them in the creek?

Dear Customer,
No, there are no nuts in here

(it's a long story)

-


Credits:
This was a collaborative cento composed by the Spring 2021 Creative Writing: Poetry workshop at Temple University, ENG 2003 SECTION 002; in-class gameplay facilitated by Alexa Smith.

A note to the developer:
The authors were very upset that they couldn't eat any snacks they found until the end, despite multiple investigations of the kitchen and pantry.
One author described this as a "SCAM."
The title is their commentary.

courgettes, squash, marrow, carrots,
morsel, gobbet, trace of maple syrop, fat
On an onion tuft
Above her, new layers keep arriving;
when the zucchini
And whereto?
borders, journeys, archives, landscapes, reading, time, memory, myth, legend,
time slushes,
staining purple, a few tongues stained, too,
long pick necks pink curling
and blue in the crayfish-stream
The earth's crust shifting — may turn into fields
fire-roasted with some char remaining,
those strata of sour dead.

Like all braises,
I won't be held accountable
until every branch hangs sopping,
And I tip — drunken —
on the edge of an empty day.