You are in the other room,
Your smile and radiance towering
Over the story like sequoias,
Or pretty zeppelins, learning
Your fourteenth language, hair à la garçonne.
And I am underemployed, in the kitchen,
Struggling not to make this chicken dry,
For once, with my COWABUNGA shirt,
Cheeks still tacked with mango juice.
And if you would split open my head, surgeon,
(Just a transverse slice here, above the eyes)
You could see them teeming like wasps.
My million contrary thoughts would fly up.
How can you say you love this?
Logo Wei and spouse live in the upper Midwest with their puckish quadruped. He has worked with patients, students and those enduring homelessness. Logo bakes, bikes and writes as solacing means of existence. Logo’s poetry has appeared or will appear in Pedestal Magazine, Ink & Voices, Parhelion, Panoply, and others.