PUNK POETRY: Thunder Kiss by Alison Miller

I saw him in concert once 

I tell my husband, just Rob 

Zombie not White Zombie

who is now now now coming

through our car’s speakers

My husband is tapping his 

fingers, he is playing air 

guitar. I didn’t fuck him but 

I wanted to. I didn’t fuck 

Rob Zombie but another man

stood behind me that night 

1965-5-5-5-5 and I poured my 

ass into the bowl of his hips 

as he pressed me against 

the balcony’s plexiglass, 

both of us looking down.


-Alison Miller 

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