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Never liked Persian men
Two poems

By Leyla Momeny
May 19, 2000
The Iranian


I recall the feeling of grass
scratching my belly
while watching you kick a ball
with a dozen other beautiful men
one blissful green day
below los angeles smog

I recall
your calve muscles
throbbing next to sepehr's
and your eyebrows dripping with sweat
like ali reza's
the engineering student from tehran

I see your lips moving in the distance
saying what, I am not sure

I am sure, however,
that it is not
as interesting
as the way your shoulder blade
stretches and teases
that nice white t-shirt

I never liked persian men

until today.

Why won't I leave
For Malia

I believe in gypsies
four a.m. conversations
angry black tea
cupped inside your palm
waiting for me to leave
before the sun

I do not believe in tragic endings,
insincerity, or concluding every sentence
with "you know?"

and would prefer to seep inside
this steep chair

until you apologize

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