Our hallway credenza supports the usual
number of skinmags.
I prefer men with no confidence—like you now—
I can tell your glasses are having sex with my book
and when we bowl you practice that pansy-ass leg thing.
Coco Chanel shot up every day
and people might be capable of deep-seated evil
but so are insects and there still are hot dogs
and making fun of the president.
When you ask me what I would do if my hand was burning I say
I’d hold my other
hand to it like a wick.
For a moment there, I thought my foot was a man’s face
staring up at me from under the table.
My father said for even the best possible girls,
the world is a dangerous place.