3 Really Cute Poems About Mouths
By
Peter Gutiérrez
i. Patient Intake
the new arrival’s teeth, she noticed, were arranged
in a kind of herringbone pattern, with the top angled
one way, and the bottom, zagging the other, like forward
and backward typographical slashes; it was not unbecoming,
but still, best not to mention it
ii. The Friendly Greeting of Adulterers
An embrace, definitely—but a fast grasping, not a chunky hug--
followed by the too-quick-to-aim kiss somewhere about the head;
sometimes it lands on the temple, followed, inevitably, by the taste
of hair; sometimes the hollow beneath the ear, the place where
the neck flows into glory. But never on
the mouth. They’d save that until later, after the shared savories
and very grownup drinks, enjoyed for the sharing itself, but mostly
for the freedom of it all; and because
this open feeding helps mark those mouths as indeed their own
and indeed each other’s: the new flavors searing away
the traces of anyone else since the last time they were
together.
iii. A Critical Reappraisal of Speed 2: Cruise Control
you can see all the mistakes you made
laid out and flickering palely, the wake
of a ghost ship
that’s how the emcee started things off, a little artsy, if
you ask me; later, when the waves got rocky, which is a
not-good way to put it, but is also perfect, the other
onboard guests would help me relive the blast of
nothing at all, the foghorn that was louder for the lack
of fog:
(remember the image of the rolling highball glass, under
the chairs and sofa, how oblivious those in attendance were,
how something about the wind and ship’s sway kept it on
a perfect circular glide, avoiding the legs of the outdoor
furniture, repeating its noisy circuit as if in flamboyant
protest—or perhaps a half-hearted attempt to smash itself,
one could not tell.)
now we’re barreling directly toward the sea, the river running
out of real estate; why is it called the mouth? someone yelled.
Who’s doing the devouring, the ocean or the stream?
or maybe both boomed a new unknown
from the depths
Peter Gutierrez is a New Jersey-based writer whose books include the story collection From Bad to Worse and the novella The Trees Melt Like Candles. You can find him on social media, but it's not worth the effort.
By
Peter Gutiérrez
i. Patient Intake
the new arrival’s teeth, she noticed, were arranged
in a kind of herringbone pattern, with the top angled
one way, and the bottom, zagging the other, like forward
and backward typographical slashes; it was not unbecoming,
but still, best not to mention it
ii. The Friendly Greeting of Adulterers
An embrace, definitely—but a fast grasping, not a chunky hug--
followed by the too-quick-to-aim kiss somewhere about the head;
sometimes it lands on the temple, followed, inevitably, by the taste
of hair; sometimes the hollow beneath the ear, the place where
the neck flows into glory. But never on
the mouth. They’d save that until later, after the shared savories
and very grownup drinks, enjoyed for the sharing itself, but mostly
for the freedom of it all; and because
this open feeding helps mark those mouths as indeed their own
and indeed each other’s: the new flavors searing away
the traces of anyone else since the last time they were
together.
iii. A Critical Reappraisal of Speed 2: Cruise Control
you can see all the mistakes you made
laid out and flickering palely, the wake
of a ghost ship
that’s how the emcee started things off, a little artsy, if
you ask me; later, when the waves got rocky, which is a
not-good way to put it, but is also perfect, the other
onboard guests would help me relive the blast of
nothing at all, the foghorn that was louder for the lack
of fog:
(remember the image of the rolling highball glass, under
the chairs and sofa, how oblivious those in attendance were,
how something about the wind and ship’s sway kept it on
a perfect circular glide, avoiding the legs of the outdoor
furniture, repeating its noisy circuit as if in flamboyant
protest—or perhaps a half-hearted attempt to smash itself,
one could not tell.)
now we’re barreling directly toward the sea, the river running
out of real estate; why is it called the mouth? someone yelled.
Who’s doing the devouring, the ocean or the stream?
or maybe both boomed a new unknown
from the depths
Peter Gutierrez is a New Jersey-based writer whose books include the story collection From Bad to Worse and the novella The Trees Melt Like Candles. You can find him on social media, but it's not worth the effort.
