Francesca Bell: In Plain Sight

By fourteen, I had transformed,
body gone from tight-fisted to extravagant.

The boys, too, had changed. Their voices creaked like screen doors,

then slammed into tones of full-grown men.

They called from car windows and sidewalks,

Big-breasted woman, I love you!

One I liked brought a friend to my door who chortled,

You're right. Her teeth are terrible, but her tits are fantastic.

No blouse would boutton over my excess.

Nothing in the lingerie department could contain me.

The special-order minimizer cost me fifty babysitting hours

and was unyielding as a harness. I believe in brazenness,

but no power was ever greater then feeling the tremble

in a surprised boy's fingers after I removed that bra.

Oh, my God, one said. I had no idea.

Francesca Bell: I Long To Hold The Poetry Editor’s Penis In My Hand

and tell him personally,
I’m sorry, but I’m going
to have to pass on this.
Though your piece
held my attention through
the first few screenings,
I don’t feel it is a good fit
for me at this time.
Please know it received
my careful consideration.
I thank you for allowing
me to have a look,
and I wish you
the very best of luck
placing it elsewhere.