poem: girl writer

there are No Good White Men — you can only keep
the turn, knees tucked in, i got accepted to the dream literary
MFA took the train into Brooklyn had a latte and half
pistachio pastry, brushed the crumbs off, I hope the genre-
fiction writers know their place, reading Claire Lispector,
keep the cover out while finishing, coffee, phone is a mouth
which goes to thumb which goes to arm which congeals
cum; you know you will only write about your bad ex
for fifteen months at the MFA or terribly languorous coming-up
story set in a hinter-lands pasture-lands, green and glowing,
replete with lines of cows. luckily the MFA is entirely
female; unluckily there are no off-color weirdo drug-addicted
sex pest writers who can read your secret internet blog
rape fantasy stories and tell you, this is okay — you can
only keep the turn, knees tucked in, take identities in little
pills as they come new down the pike.