A POEM by CLEMENTINE WILLIAMS
Disordered Meteorology
Weather does not describe the foreplay
of having sex with the first person
who’ll give you an umbrella
and fuck you in the same sentence.
In fact, the sex isn’t even that enjoyable
but the high of being manic
is convincing enough to
believe that you came
despite being on antidepressants,
and you know how
antidepressants are
(You haven’t been horny in months).
After being fucked over an umbrella,
you run to the train tracks and
have a hysterical monologue
about the cliche of ending
your life by train and take
to your car to have a
high speed chase with
no one.
It’s thundering and you laugh
as you almost hydroplane,
hands shaking with exhilaration
at the thought of a deer
toying with it’s life just
as much as you are.
You don’t know
how you end up
on the couch the next
morning but you don’t give
a damn anyway.
Now the sun is shining
and you down your meds
with the can of flat coke
left on the coffee table.
You think back to that
shitty display of intimacy
from the night before
but it’s not enough
to kill your buzz.
You don’t even check
your account before
dropping next month’s
rent money on junk
that seems reasonable
at the time.
Sex, suicide,
and shopping sprees all
within twenty-four hours.
Your favorite throuple
until you’re greeted
with mud all over your
favorite shoes and
then you remember
you’re pissed at God,
and your mother,
and your father,
and whoever the fuck
else came before you
that created such rapid
shifts in your forecast.
Their genes got you
into this mess, and
into this mud and
into a depression
that will last
for months
until a tornado
wipes the slate clean
and you’re back in the
sex positions you know best.
Clementine Williams is a Black, queer writer hailing from North Carolina, currently pursuing a degree in social work with a minor in criminology. They are a new poetry and short fiction writer who primarily writes about Black lesbianism in conjunction with other identities.