Lonely in the ting
of the overhead current,
the mall’s windows
overflow with mannequin
limbs pinned to spreading
jungles of Payless BOGO
aisles. I follow my heart,
retreat, cruise retail rack
and stand in line in solidarity
our visions pile over our left
arms and we hum like pupae.
Inside with the latch down
I cinch and zip a tensor bandage
slip, remember summers ago
maggots that wriggled road
kill to life. I quit before the next
line, debit cash or credit, pass
walkways, a row of kiosks, phone case
bling, knockoff pocket
watches, and youth serum
for hair follicles. Led by white
noise to the ladies I rinse
my hands and witness a small
girl flutter in, her grin
slack as she stumbles on
what I ignored: the last stall
swung wide to standing
fragile thighs shaking.
The older woman’s
winter coat hangs like moth
wings, road salt dried
to a chitin sheen.
Kraken rum and its junior polished on Yuletide
horror night with Alex and Stephen. Pouring
Portuguese frizzante in the midst of Adleen defining
trifflin’, Laura coining touch-a-dick. Shawn
popping Coppola’s Sofia New Years waiting for weed.
A six pack of that American IPA Andrea loves,
and shaking when chalking the pansy murder in
the hallway. One delirium split with Sloe the feline
empath who runs under the sofa to tune into the future
like we do the ocean with a conch shell.
A magnum. Another. Riesling washing toothaches
from cinnamon heart buttercream. Local orchard
apples fermented to seal lips round condoms being blown
into beach balls. Slavic malt and hops dripping off
the ferry with a moon the same gold of lowenbrau’s logo.
Patrick, Meghan, Codie. Steve.
Red velvet with elements of cassis on the pullout loveseat.
Jungle juice inhalations when the pinot noir runs out.
Havana Club and the trip to Cuba I haven’t taken.
The bishop of Milan’s apricot ale at Grenadier Pond
while Travis and the double crested cormorants chirp
how in love they are. The merlots of February.