Rooftop Poetry Club - Heather Abner

Heather Abner

Bio:
Heather Abner is a thirtysomething poet and educator who lives in Michigan. She teaches English composition and creative writing at two local community colleges and volunteers in elementary schools teaching poetry to 4th and 5th graders. Because teaching college part-time, like crime, doesn't pay she often considers going back to school for Library and Information Science. Heather has a M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Michigan. She lives with her husband, Chris, and their "giant" Miniature Schnuazer, Diesel.

Her blog is at http://www.honkytonkgrl.blogspot.com/

Poems:

Shh, Punk Boy Sleeping

He's gotta work at one
so I'll wake him at noon,
fix a peanut butter sandwich
while he's in the shower,
find him a pair of jeans
that isn't too dirty and his belt,
the one he picked up at the Cat's Meow
with all its gleaming studs,
the one that airport security considers
a dangerous weapon.

He's into punk metal,
says he likes it short, fast, and loud,
but for now I keep it quiet while he sleeps
put on a Talk is Poison t-shirt,
and silently read Maximum RocknRoll,
from the stack of zines
on the tank of the toilet.
I stretch out next to him, the fan on lo
whispering over us.
How to tell him I love this
without waking him,
without moving my lips.

I Wish I'd Kept His Johnny Cash-Giving-the-Finger-at-San-Quentin T-Shirt, Too

But I was wearing
his Iron Maiden shirt
when he sat on my bed
and told me
he'd hooked up with Kari
this straight edge chick
he goes to all the hardcore
shows with.

I said "that's fine"
and "I understand."

And as he picked up
the rest of the shit he'd left
scattered around my apartment
I considered
taking off his shirt
and giving it back

but I didn't.

If Fast Were a Color

If fast were a color
it wouldn't be Infiniti
G35 Sport Coupe red
like in the car ad,
but black,
like Cody's gansta pants
as he zooms down hallways
to the beat of rap
booming from his disc player.

If fast were a color
it would be the assignments
Cody speeds through,
as if they were amber turning to red.
Shouting "done" loudly
he slams his pen down.
Everything's a race to him
as he fuels his sugar-high
in class from a half-gallon carton
of chocolate milk.

Since he's always done early
I ask him to take Diesel outside.
Boy and dog
become a gray and black whirl
as they spin around the parking lot
until they're both panting.

If fast were a color
it would be blacktop at night
as my tires roll over it.
It would be the color
of Cody's hood
slumped over his head
as I drive him home one night.
It would be the color of rap music
coming from my car stereo.
This time with the volume
turned down quiet as a lullaby.

If fast were a color
it would be the color of Cody
colliding gently into sleep.

Heels

Without the hat
you don't seem so tall,
or maybe it's just my boots,
the three-inch heels thick
as my tongue feels whenever
you speak to me.
You say: nice boots,
as we pass in the hall
and I keep walking
the way my sister showed me years ago.
Before she left for college
she taught me how to walk
in her old prom shoes.
First the hallway,
then the stairs
in those silver and rhinestone
t-strap sandals.
All summer we listened to Purple Rain
while she instructed me: Heels first
and keep your toes straight.
Chin up.
You gotta make it look easy
no matter how much it hurts.