Persephone Abbott

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The Professor’s Apples

Posted on May 14, 2022

On my wall there was a modest space available, large enough for a mirror, but then I thought, no, not a new mirror, better find a secondhand mirror, maybe oval or maybe rectangular. I felt there was an element missing between the paintings hanging on my wall and, besides, the middle part of my studio, the part between the front windows and the back balcony was a bit dark at times. A mirror might help. Did I, and I asked myself this while standing on the Keizersgracht one evening with a small object between my hands, favor this little mirror, poorly wedged into an old chipped frame? Someone had put it out on the street. I thought not. Months later, I passed by a…

Two Today

Posted on May 13, 2022

Poems in the Car

I imagine you waiting
in a parking lot for something to happen
for the signal to go, go, go and
you reach down for your phone
mentally spin out off the road 
read a poem by Simon

I imagine your blond head bent
in concentration, trying to find 
something to report as you anticipate
a familiar occurrence appearing 
above the horizon of your dashboard
meanwhile Simon’s slow words, 
searching fingers tips, enter your sightline
and explain to you it already happened
sometime ago and you are free


Give me a bottom I want to say
a motherfucking smack the fanny
nectar bleeding pimpled dumpling
doughy dog-haired bruised apple
gooey cheesy pink crackly frosty
yes, the best one on the menu
what I am yakking about here and
hey the futurette is not looking too good, 
in a glass.

Do you ever….

Posted on May 5, 2022

Do you ever think of sex, Bathilde?

I know you’re spayed.

I paid for it, and I am sorry

about the sloppy stitching

they must have assigned

the task to the trainee

almost gone though, the rough edge —

your belly skin and the stumpy suture work

has relaxed and anyway,

because of your eczema

you don’t like being petted much


when I scratch the fleshy fold of your abdomen,

the saggy sterilized pouch that

merges with your hind legs, you respond by

stretching out your limbs and spreading your toes

until it’s too much good stuff to handle and

show time for your alter ego

Ms. Fangs & Claws

I know you’re limited, I just thought

you might have more to tell me

I try to imagine from time to time,

what else enters the receiver section between

your ears other than the chore of shaking down

the automatic food dispenser the way you

used to harass me every morning by

sticking your paw into any exposed orifice and

swatting at my temples, maybe

I shouldn’t have bought the model with

the little window displaying all that potential