12.2 / FALL/WINTER 2017



Jeanie baby, it was by that
Pumping station, same one
You ate that greasy fried egg

Sandwich. Where lil’ chickens,
Called for momma or father,
Anyone with big teeth and fat

Knuckles. You convinced him
To be in love with green tomatoes,
The flesh of plums. You smell blood

And couldn’t give a damn about the outside
Of this box van world—it’s raining
And nobody decides to sleep well.



Chattel Line

admittedly, the limping
idea of fun has changed
—that stranger

with a confederate
smile keeps back
dancing closer to you

stopping from time
to time to kiss a
companion. you
ditched your date

to follow easy virtue
into a port-a-let; all

bodies taste salty,
all quick mouth
movements are labial.

answer the phone
it’s most likely
an invite to another
champagne jam—

your favorite
operators on party

lines are scarlet
and musky,
you tell young

sailors they smell
like carribean sea.
you have a nasty
habit of cutting

your milk with scotch,
inviting un-sage
spirits to bed.


Chukwuma Ndulue is a writer, teacher and occasional small engine mechanic. His work has appeared in Boaat, Muse/A Journal, Impakter, and Tinderbox. His chapbook ‘Boys Quarter’ is forthcoming from Ugly Duckling Presse in October 2017.

12.2 / FALL/WINTER 2017