This room has already seen some pretty ordinary people
make legendary fools of themselves. Champagne and cocaine,
or just vodka and Valium, changes the tone of the devilish showstopper
from one conversation to another.

She’s going to sleep with one of the bridesmaids tonight.
Then she’s going to buy some groceries at the place that sells
things under the counter. Stuff that was a bad idea even back then.

Back when the school week wore dark clothes,
and anticipated every corner she was going to turn
when things finally stabilized.

Those days when a good heart didn’t do a thing
to keep her fingers from almost freezing to death.

She’s going to ride the glass elevator a few times
when things get to that point
where she has to reach up and grab her heels,
before they fly, fly, fly away.

Then she’ll remember the bridesmaid thing,
and she’ll be so busy wondering how long it’s been
since someone left teeth marks on her legs
that she’ll light her cigarette before she gets outside.

Nothing but fake palm trees as far as the eye doesn’t need to see,
so the wind is going to have to settle for bowling over people.

Traffic has gone to a better place. Every car is silently guarding tomorrow.
A reception like this is unacceptable anywhere else but the edge of town.

Poetry like that is easier than chasing more pills with more vodka.
Easier than mourning the people who used to save her heels
before she had a chance to. And these works she wishes she still saved
are a hell of a lot simpler than curing a headache,
or going to work all week without at least one nervous breakdown
in the car during lunch.

By the time the cigarette is finished,
she’s already decided which one of the bridesmaids
is going to make her feel like she still lives and breathes desire.

That huge bathroom better be empty. And if it’s not,
oh well,
oh well.

11/15/2012

Posted on 11/16/2012
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