Another Wave
I want to replace my windshield wipers / for real this time. Want a tiara for my trouble.
by Jenna Jaco
after misheard Hozier
I wanna be big, peninsula my outline.
Wanna be tiny as last Tuesday afternoon.
Want to put my Scrabble tiles in the politest places.
Want to vacuum seal a hand to the board.
I want to replace my windshield wipers
for real this time. Want a tiara for my trouble.
Want to be queen of a nightclub with impossible ventilation and operating hours.
We saw you from across the open-air omelet island, etc.
Want to say I’ve been in brat summer since the Bush administration.
Want to be new as fuck at the world.
Want to be as phonetically pleasing as since the Bush administration.
Shushes clustered at the front of the mouth.
Wanna hide in that bouquet. Get spat down a drain.
Want cities tracking me in wastewater graphs.
We saw you from across the Bush administration
and think you're the goddamn plague.
I want your thumb to come test this molar.
Want to share aerosols and hot cheese.
Wanna be your slop.
Wanna feed no one at all.
Want the bottom of the ocean. Want the top.
Jenna Jaco (they/she) is a poet and technical writer from Texas. They are the author of Mall Water (Kith Books, 2024). She has had poems published in Ghost City Review, Peach Mag, Foglifter, and elsewhere, and writes unmarketable content at Cherub Microplastics.
