Poetry: Suzi F. Garcia
Dirt Skirt Divas Present No Man’s Land
Painted roses on my lips, feather lashes wink wink blink tonight
Gloves come off
at a time, nails glitter gray. Work the angle, work my angles, get a cheap pop
from the crowd, hit a high spot, just a little grunt-and-groan. Take a hit, take
a bump, thumbtacks in the fleshy backsides of my thighs. Pinpricks of blood
where I can’t reach, welling up below the silver sequins across
my ass that spell out BELLA, but this is just the B-show. Leather boots
past the knees; I don’t need to cover my legs,
bikini briefs for flexibility. I’ll finish the blow off
make it clean make a girl’s mask crimson, except
my arms are twisted behind. I shake my head no, she opens
her mouth, tits bounce like the canvas under our feet. I feed her
a false comeback a hope spot, no,
nylon and blond won’t take her far cuz no one cares
about a babyface anymore. I pull flowers from her hair, stomp under a heel’s heel heel, girl.
Grab at my stomach but it is sweat slick,
kiss me salty, boys.
Flip her over, you didn’t know I could move like that. My comebacks are all superman,
finger in her face. I’m up bouncing off ropes tight swings tight off the tight ropes,
my cheeks turn coca cola red but still I split, spin, my feet above her head, my hair,
higher than that,
Southern style, my finisher a kiss to the audience & when I taunt
—title in air, feet on either side of the post—
it’s boobs out, butt out, fuck a Knockout, I’m a Diva.
Suzi F. Garcia has an MFA in Creative Writing with minors in Gender Studies and Screen Cultures. She is the daughter of an immigrant and a poetry editor at Noemi Press. Her writing has been featured in or is forthcoming from the University of Arizona Poetry Center Blog, Vinyl, Apogee, The Wanderer, and more.
Image: @rpcdvd4u, Twitter