Cool

Is
Me
In
Tights
And
Boots
Caressing
The neck
Of a bottle
With one finger
And keeping one eye on
My cleavage/regulating
The crowd of hair-gelled
Men.

It isn't until the ladies' room
And all the women bending over the counter
To touch their hair
That I realize that the Smirnoff Ice label
Stuck to my chest is less a cute-cool-party-thing
Than it is a loser-who-came-out-of-the-stalls-with-T.P.-
On-her-heels thing.

Jenica Antonellis

 

Back to Poetry | Back to Scribes