her mouth cotton
candy style and her hair blown up big
because hair spray smells better than the blood they give you on Halloween
and she walks to me and says she’d like to know
how to get to the bottom of the hill
where the man with the big arms serves the big girls
those papercup drinks.
her directions and of course I smile
because we’ve been taught to nod to that beat of direction
giving and kindness to strangers
but not the ones with candy.
the boys down the street, if you say Jimmy Jingles
well they’ll give you a shot for free
and she’s not saying anything other than that uh huh
which means everything more than Gothic windows on Sunday
not this Sunday. I’m bouncing
pressing cider
into the palm of my pointed hand, pulping up for the big show
No comments:
Post a Comment