She tugs my jeans down, squeezes my dick while saying squeeze. 
 
Rush of blood to my Pennsylvania, Amish fleeing the depot 
into my pubes. I’m supine on her floor-level mattress, her 
 
right hand smoothing out the ponytail that is Pennsylvania. The state 
looks phallic if you let it; expanding in area, land-grabbing 
 
parts of Ohio and New York. People swarming in like semen, 
testicles filling like moo-juice in a bucket. 
 
I’m moaning at the ceiling 		when her mother walks in. 
 
How else do I relate that Pennsylvania scatters 
 
			a populace of inhabitants 
on my girlfriend’s chest; 	
 
her mother asking if we’d like a snack?
Matthew Schmidt

Matthew Schmidt

Matthew Schmidt is working on a PhD in English at the University of Southern Mississippi. His poems have been published or are forthcoming in Hobart, Small Po[r]tions, Territory, Word For/Word, and elsewhere. He is an associate poetry editor at Fairy Tale Review.
Matthew Schmidt

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