Friday Morning, Saturday Night
I am avoiding the investigation with a pass word from my best friend
who is a good song on the radio,
it's a shame I never learned to use it, I could have had
chicken pot pie, gel stripe toothpaste,
magic, witchcraft, and power.
Cats are dangerous
so I turned at the next light, noting my shopping list:
SOS pads, baby pads, baby bears,
because I am assessing where I fall in, trying to achieve
lasting freshness, cool potatoes.
It's too easy to hurt someone when I'm angry and too smart to see
my swollen white belly moving up and down breathing.
No party games can help my smoking or my quitting.
Just
bonded I am free to make the better conference call.
Call me now at the old house. I know my Miranda rights. I ran
not sure how I fit. Maybe mental
turns on the street work like a
careful mom going on 12 years old
smiles and drives to an opportunity. Maybe it
yields to the cute guy in the yellow karman ghia.
It's strange but I think I've
thought. I think I wrote a mental poem:
stretches her gum with her long tongue,
hopes he thinks of her giving him head, smearing her bright red
lipstick on his pants.
I am a slave to commitment and candy vacation.
He looks at her a fraction of a second, driving
Miles, waiting for forgetfulness, in or out of the car.
Fuzzy keepsake puppies in the wagon
on the way to work this morning. I am
covered. Find and embarrass me.
I refrained from comment and
phone. I am given no credit among exciting single women.
Even when getting very excited about the project.
I know she hopes he is watching her do the
the whole thing. I've been
taking all of this very seriously.
by Elana Abernathy