by Natasha Hunte
Harvard grads pimped houses on the market
while airlines made jets nobody would fly
I need more dough to sleep safe.
All day I eat Cipralex® with no prescription
My doc could acquiesce and rev up my addiction
swallowing feels only 50% free.
When my stocks dived, my wife lost her interest
couldn’t stand up to a deep cut in pedicures
love isn’t made free.
When I close my right hand, I want to feel some green
don’t tell me less is more, about Buddha and planting love
feed that to the Bronx.
Natasha Hunte graduated from the MA Literature program at the University of New Orleans. Her works “Free” and "Buttered Bread" were published in Yemassee, and “Buttered Bread” was nominated for The Pushcart Prize. Her essay, "Soccer, Jefferson and the Truth" won first place in the graduate division within the Louisiana Association for College Composition Statewide Writing contest, and her poem “Abandonded Abode” won honourable mention in the graduate division of that category. An American of Caribbean parentage, she currently lives in Switzerland and is a member of Geneva Writer's Group and Zurich Writer's Group.
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