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Three zits monthly.
Often confused.
Lusting for love.
“You?”
Same.
Small Talk Shrank to Minuscule
Hot? Not! Wait till August!
The carriage burped. Screeched.
Hiccupped. I tightened my seat-belt,
like that could save me.
Straight A’s, huh? Got your brains
from your old man.
I was starting to doubt it.
No air-con, windows down,
oil flavored the air.
Conversation took an ugly turn.
Never been laid? Tell the truth
little girl.
Like it was his business. He
reached for his Marlboros, took
one, offered the pack. My lip
curled. He lit up anyway.
Quit once. Your mother bitched
me out of the habit.
I watched him inhale, blow
smoke signals. Exhale. Beyond
the ochre haze, city turned to
suburbs. Not pretty suburbs.
She was the bitch queen. I started
again soon as I moved out.
