It’s in Your Genes

By Christine Reilly

you can only stray so much


it’s in your genes

hiding behind your ears growing up


it’s in your genes

the first taste, whirligig dance of sweet green-grape wine


it’s in your genes

drinking in circles, honeysuckle in your backyard


it’s in your genes

to be addicted to circles, once is never enough


a certain blood-polished romance, the texture

of an ovum and the pornographic etiquette

of a full moon.  provided you’re drunk enough


(it’s in your genes) to spit out a peach pit and from it,

draw a kaleidoscopic heart.


it’s in your genes

just like your father, who now will live to be two-hundred

years longer without the bottle, once he broke the circle,

once he substituted one vice for organ-playing and swears he’s never felt healthier


it’s in your genes

you’re in the center of the sun

the center of the sphere, dead fruit bearer.

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