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cold front
by Lauren Singerpretty girl and a molotov cocktail,
razor blade eyelids pierced on her temple
with her cigarette butt.
he's watching her shirt fall off her shoulder blades,
her hair in her eyes and she knows it,
red-lipped and dangerous without saying
she don't give a fuck
cause she does, but why press it?
holding out on her silhouette
he slides into homebound prophetic,
asks about her round the room,
eases his way into pillow-cush "whatever, kid"
not listening to the way he says her name
so she can tell him.
she tosses back a shot of gin--no chaser--
just the snarl of pretty girl lips up to her puckered nostril,
and she knows she's not approachable
just like she can taste the hiccup of her bile.
but she keeps drinking,
it's almost friday so she keeps drinking
waiting for the outside to greet her with a frozen nod
and someone else to tenderize her.
he does not follow her out,
she doesn't let her eyes hang by the door. 02/28/2008 Posted on 02/29/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Olivia Weinkein on 02/29/08 at 02:00 AM perfect ending. |
| Posted by H.M Stevens on 02/29/08 at 08:06 AM i like the use of razor blade eyes |
| Posted by Steven Kenworthy on 03/01/08 at 09:07 PM oh lauren...u&your sharp and puncturing imagery. another delight in your painfully honest approach. the go-getter. you are the messenger of truth and angst. someone has to do it...this poem though, feels a bit more detached for you...though still jabbing, it let's go of you at the end. well done, well done. |
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