By
J. Aclin
She
stands,
In the line,
Smoking,
And
with the other hand, talking on her cell phone.
It
is six in the morning.
She hasn’t slept.
She has been out
At clubs
All night,
She announces loudly.
It
is cold. She calls for her Prada
gloves.
Last year, on this same line,
She did shots of tequila,
She announces loudly.
No,
she wasn’t wearing this cow-print jacket then.
She
didn’t own it then.
She wore her mink.
Later,
she speaks, loudly,
Of
the guy she spent the morning with at the diner.
He
looked deeply into her eyes,
And told her about his nine year old son,
And how he’s been shot.
The guy, not the son.
She
says she wants to tell ghost stories,
Loudly.
And
I,
And I,
Have no batteries
For my walkman.
