Two Poems

The Duff Lonely in the ting of the overhead current, the mall’s windows overflow with mannequin limbs pinned to spreading boards, pixilated jungles of Payless BOGO aisles. I follow my heart, retreat, cruise retail rack and stand in line in solidarity our visions pile over our left arms and we hum like pupae. Inside with the latch down I cinch and zip a tensor bandage slip, remember summers ago maggots that wriggled road kill to life. I quit before the next line, debit cash or credit, pass walkways, a row of kiosks, phone case bling, knockoff pocket watches, and youth serum for hair follicles. Led by white noise to the ladies I rinse my hands and witness a small girl flutter in, her grin slack as she stumbles on what I ignored: the last stall swung wide to standing fragile thighs shaking. The older woman’s winter coat hangs like moth wings, road salt dried to a chitin sheen.   $14.60 Kraken rum and its junior polished on Yuletide horror night with Alex and Stephen. Pouring Portuguese frizzante in the midst of Adleen defining trifflin’, Laura coining touch-a-dick. Shawn popping Coppola’s Sofia New Years waiting for weed. .50 .60 1 A six pack of that American IPA Andrea loves, and shaking when chalking the pansy murder in the hallway. One delirium split with Sloe the feline empath who runs under the sofa to tune into the future like we do the ocean with a conch shell. 5.40 A magnum. Another. Riesling washing toothaches from cinnamon heart buttercream. Local orchard apples fermented to seal lips round condoms being blown into beach balls. Slavic malt and hops dripping off the ferry with a moon the same gold of lowenbrau’s logo. Patrick, Meghan, Codie. Steve. 8.90 9 9.10 Red velvet with elements of cassis on the pullout loveseat. Jungle juice inhalations when the pinot noir runs out. Havana Club and the trip to Cuba I haven't taken. The bishop of Milan’s apricot ale at Grenadier Pond while Travis and the double crested cormorants chirp how in love they are. The merlots of February.