First Lunch With Relative Stranger Mister You

We solved the problem of the wind
                                                  with an orange.

Now we’ve got the problem
                                                  of the orange.

Jimmy once said, Do you get along with everyone
                                                  as good as this?

I did not know how to say yes.

In Albuquerque yes is hard/easy/look
a roadrunner!

You there, across the table, could be my opposite
of enemy. I do not want 8 babies.

Are you hooked on height?

I’m trying to stop myself from telling you
about the time I lost my passport

and so thought of killing myself,
identity being an important instrument
of my behavior.

I saved myself by thinking I’d write a novel
and then fell asleep in the closet.

It’s called, the novel, Last Things for Lala.

It is not called, The Contradictory Nature of Hangers.

What is the punctum?

Out of which limb will you grow?

Jimmy had two sons, nice ones.
Two taller than me. I bought them food and listened
to ICP in the 65 Chevy.

I was 53 years old. That’s one year older than Jimmy.

I’ve never been where you live,
but that doesn’t mean I should move there.

I get attached to rocks.

At the tone the time will be: Let’s never die!

We’ve just met, should we move to Ensenada?

Or should I just borrow a pen?

I could tie your shoelaces

                         together and play king

of the mountain.

I’ve brought a lot to the table.

You’ve brought an orange.

I’d rather sit a kiss than you would.

My fist is like a kiss.

I want a shirt that says, Kiss Me or I’ll Cut You.

I want to start every sentence with,
                                                  Let me tell you something, Mister.

Mister who smells like yellow.

           Mister who has too many pockets.

                      Mister who is a Mister times two,

                                    Mister who misses and then gets sad,

                                                 Mister whose lunch I’m having.

What to do with the problem of the orange?

Let me tell you something Mister,

                                                         you’ve got to peel it.

Ada Limón is originally from Sonoma, California. She received her MFA in Creative Writing-Poetry from New York University. She has received fellowships from the Provincetown Fine Arts Work Center, New York Foundation for the Arts, and won the Chicago Literary Award for Poetry. Her work appears in numerous magazines, including the The Iowa Review, Slate, Watchword, Poetry Daily, LIT, Painted Bride Quarterly, and others. She co-curates Pete’s Big Salmon in Brooklyn and her first book lucky wreck is forthcoming by Autumn House Press in February of 2006.


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