To Twitter, with Love

This poem won Editor's Mom's Choice in 2-Day Poem Contest 2020

The body’s strongest muscle is the masseter.
Found only in mammals, we use it to open & close
the jaw. This doesn’t mean the heart is weak, beating
its gentle syllabary of #love— but imagine if, humble
& steadfast, the masseter was the muscle of devotion.

                                                                                                                           ​              TRASH BIN ICON

To Twitter,
Is something wrong with me? In Friends
they tell you we are all lobsters mating for life
& all of my loves have found their lobsters. Not me. (1/3)

(2/3) Yet I see #love everywhere. Inside the café
a novelist’s shadow scribbles paperback romances
of crustacea & the beady eyes of their love.

(3/3) At the bistro table, looking for lobster, I am surrounded
by #pigeons. I’m lonely


                                       the birds

               p  e    c k                       &           s    c    r    a b    b l    e

                          their peristeronic          mating dances

                                                      on the concrete.

                                                                                                                           ​              ​TRASH BIN ICON

Is it weird to write to Twitter? Is it weird to send it emoji?
Do we express our love in likes or hashtags? Instead of calling
the octothorpe a hashtag, why not #love? (1/?)

(2/?) To Twitter, how do I break the lethargy of love unsatisfied?

(3/?) I try to send a tweet confessing: sometimes, love
is emptiness— & now am part of the conversation about raising
backyard #pigeons in Vancouver, which is the new soft-core
sourdough starter for those who can’t raise yeast.

(4/?) Inside the café I see the reflection of a pigeon flaunting its love.
Inside the café the romance novelist exercises her masseter.
Outside I set down a bowl of vinegar, hoping to catch #pigeons with it.

                                                                                                                           ​              TRASH BIN ICON

Not me, not me. I want to crawl inside another lobster’s carapace,
bootlegging the sweet ichor of its affection. Swill it down
until I’m drunk on borrowed #love. (1/2)


                                                                                                                           ​              TRASH BIN ICON

Birds have proportionately larger hearts than humans.

                                                                                                                           ​              SEND TWEET