Authors: Heppermann,Christine
A
t the Once Upon a Time Shop,
they make me check my basket,
but who cares. I have plenty of room
under my cape, a six-pack wedged against
the elastic of my gingham bikini briefs.
I buy a Get Well card for Granny,
smiling sweetly at the clerk who thinks
he's being cute when he hands me
the bag and says, “All the better to
receipt you with, my dear!”
Wolfie's waiting at our usual spot
with cigarettes. I pull out the goodies,
and the drunker we get, the more I want to
dig my nails into his pelt like
I'm going to scratch his belly, but not stop
there.
“Why, Wolfie, what a big . . .”
If that woodsman shows up now,
I will totally kick his ass.
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I
t's not a glove left on the subway,
keys gone AWOL under the couch.
No billboard clamors,
Has anyone seen
this missing virginity?
There has to be a better way
to say it.
Finding your sexuality?
Not so much.
Becoming a woman?
Next!
Keeping
your sense of humor?
Your dignity?
Your legs from shaking,
your teeth from chattering,
your bracelet from snagging in his hair?
Keeping your head
on his chest afterward and knowing
that crazy drum solo is playing
just for you.
Yeah.
That was definitely my favorite part.
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Â
I
knew I had to get out of there
before the icing cracked and they discovered
that I'm burnt around the edges,
doughy in the center,
that what they thought was sugar
is salt.
If I was a good girl,
if I could satisfy their cravings,
if every dream in my misshapen head
didn't bite, I might have stayed at the table.
Wouldn't you run, too,
from such voracious love?
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H
i, my name is Stacy! Our soup of the day is souper
yummy, ha-ha! It's beercheesebeanbroccolibacon.
We have two specials tonightâthe crab cakes
with hollandaise, which are, like,
amazing
, and the buttermilk
chicken-fried steak, which is the best thing Chef Brandon
has ever made. I could eat it for every meal, but that's me,
I'm naturally skinny and cute and not grossing out everyone
in the dining room! Should I see if Dwayne from the stockroom
will be around later to lift you out of that booth with a forklift?
I'll give you a minute to decide!
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N
o lifeguard on duty, and she is not at all safe
on her towel, watching the other girls bodysurf.
Her friends have no clue about the tentacles churning
close to the surface, eager to pull her under
if she so much as dips in a toe.
Okay,
one
toe.
All of a sudden she's up to her ankles
in wrappers, up to her shins, her waist, her thin
bikini strings, up to no good as the tide turns
away, disgusted, and wave after greasy wave
crashes past her salt-blistered lips.
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