Baker’s Pick
Adam Poltrack

I wring you,
Like a fresh squeezed citrus fruit,
Empty you like a piggybank,
Leaving only pulp and pennies.

I make all the right withdrawals and
All the wrong deposits,
Lint and shiny foreign coins.

Your frosted feet
Siphon away my heat
Under the bed sheet—
I call you a thief.

You call me lover.

We have it backwards,
Like so many things.
While our bodies
Right side up,
Somehow see eye to eye.

And I tap the candy tree again,
Let the serum drizzle down
and coat my throat.

I tap the candy tree again,
You’re sweet
And I’m not sorry.

“I am a 22 year old student at the City College of New York majoring in comparative literature. I have received the Isaacs fellowship for study in literature.” E-mail: ptrack17[at]gmail.com