It's What They Tell Me

I am a true American heroine
ate a little too much Florentine, and salmon
at Sunday brunch, and again at Monday’s lunch
as there is nothing else to do with leftovers.

You search for yourself in my profile
not how it is written, but in between, where
you’ve bitten more than you can swallow,
need to mould me by not mine, but your design

place me high on your angelic pedestal
an itch in my big toe has me fumbling fast
towards to your feet, wrapped neat in a ribbon
we tie up my evening with playing Juliet

To You, Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore your
heart fills with contempt within intimacy,
barely waiting a moment to tell me that
the anti-hero has nothing to do with leftovers.