my proposed future
Most Thursday Nights
On most Thursday nights she watches Cosby.
Her body carries her skin like wrinkled
luggage on its way to Gautemala.
Ashes, ashes, gather at the end of her
Camel Light- she sucks down the burning
like a skilled sword swallower on the road
with Ringling Bros for at least 50 years.
Her face is sliding down her neck, losing the
invisible battle with gravity. And where is her chin?
Curls of the palest pink try to hide
the vacancy that was once her face.
In her prom dress she is 83 years old.
This is only the third time she's had
to have it refitted. The fold of fuschia have
gone in and out of style 19 times since
their senior prom. This year is an "in" year.
She is celebrating with a punk rock concert.
The seems of the dress cut her back,
but she is young, in love, and happy.
An umbrella that slides onto bright lives.
At the bar she orders two Budweisers.
Her thin skin separates from her bones and
dances with the music. She can't hide her
pulsating folds without letting go of her beer
and her saggy shaking face turns a slow red.
A tribute band to their favorite-Anti-flag is
the headliner. "What a fuckhead," she mutters
because the lead singer is stupid.
The bartender cards her.*
She takes another drag and passes it
to the empty seat next to her.
*alternate ending*
She takes a hit from the joint
in her purse and passes it to her
best friend, 82 years old
in the purple gothic dress.
On most Thursday nights she watches Cosby.
Her body carries her skin like wrinkled
luggage on its way to Gautemala.
Ashes, ashes, gather at the end of her
Camel Light- she sucks down the burning
like a skilled sword swallower on the road
with Ringling Bros for at least 50 years.
Her face is sliding down her neck, losing the
invisible battle with gravity. And where is her chin?
Curls of the palest pink try to hide
the vacancy that was once her face.
In her prom dress she is 83 years old.
This is only the third time she's had
to have it refitted. The fold of fuschia have
gone in and out of style 19 times since
their senior prom. This year is an "in" year.
She is celebrating with a punk rock concert.
The seems of the dress cut her back,
but she is young, in love, and happy.
An umbrella that slides onto bright lives.
At the bar she orders two Budweisers.
Her thin skin separates from her bones and
dances with the music. She can't hide her
pulsating folds without letting go of her beer
and her saggy shaking face turns a slow red.
A tribute band to their favorite-Anti-flag is
the headliner. "What a fuckhead," she mutters
because the lead singer is stupid.
The bartender cards her.*
She takes another drag and passes it
to the empty seat next to her.
*alternate ending*
She takes a hit from the joint
in her purse and passes it to her
best friend, 82 years old
in the purple gothic dress.