a poem a day for a year #13

by Amy Turn Sharp


The eleventh track on Pearl Jam's third studio album

was the one we all sang like choir girls

with our backs against the bar wall

near the flashing neon juke box

 

we already knew girls who had picked the wrong ones

girls who had weak skeletons

and had to borrow bones to prop themselves up

from men who did not care

not one bit

and we sang it like angels

lucky bastards

we sang it like an anthem

like a good feminist theory student

like a soldier

 

but in the early nineties rapid eye movement dream output

we all made sweet grunge love

to Eddie Vedder

his long tendrils would flop

this way and that

across our clean breasts

and we had no idea

what a better man

might

even be