Three Poems
First Communion #2
This time with gas station Takis
& glove compartment vodka
Transubstantiation occured hours ago
When you ate a taki with a care
I’ve only seen you show to the living
I bet if you opened my side right now
Pierced it from either side
Something clear would pour out
I was never one to stick my tongue out
& wait
But this week has been full of exceptions
The vodka advertises itself as triple-distilled
but the passage it makes from your lips to mine
Must count for something
I am at a Food Lion six miles into North Carolina
& my friend picks out a six-pack of Lime Corona
& mentions how redundant the idea is
& I laugh along for a moment but,
& maybe it’s just cause I’m off my meds,
but it’s kinda relatable tbh
who among us wouldn’t chose to be poured into a vessel pre-mixed?
without the need to have something stuck down our throats
“for flavor”
Hoping for a kind of thirst
I salt my rims every morning
& sometimes that’s not even enough
& I never had the knack for limes anyways
And even though I get shit for it, I buy the beers
and, I promise, they taste tacky in the way i want my lips to
Like any ex-twink I can stare at a fireplace real wistfully
And I don’t even have anyone to pine over
Who pines anymore nowadays
The needles stay green but they still fall
Eventually Unceremoniously
Instead I oak
My dead leaves still stay on me all through winter
Despite their best attempts to coat me I skirt them
Turning them into something that rustles
When I spin
All you would be prophets
Pressing your heads to my thighs and thinking
The rustling is gonna tell you the future
Don’t listen to me when I tell you it won’t
Stay awhile And pine
Jean Hogan
Jean Hogan is a poet & a Taurus & Trans & tired. She is currently living & student-ing in Annapolis.
Twitter: @dreamofjean