"San Marcos" by Monica McClure

San Marcos 
by Monica McClure

Since I stopped the flow
Of primordial ciswhite straight men
Whom I heedlessly collect
And from whom the spring feeds
Without reason I have been
Shopping so much more
Than suits a prophet in the forest.

A man said he felt like an awful cad
But an admission as such
Does not irrigate a dry spell
Once it’s surpassed the length
Of a petty offense record
Because the body’s memory is not so
Mutated by language
And there’s very little pleasure in force
When the subject is inertia.

I used to leave as soon as
The mysterious chemistry worked out
Now I am both the one who leaves
And the one who stays
Eco­-novelty is rare and common
And each design reforms
The future and the last.






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