Dressing Up


Mom grimaces at my figure in the purple dress
I had ordered. I say it is what 
every college girl wears.
The dress had spaghetti straps and 
If I was cold enough
I could see my breasts
poking hard through the fabric. 
I stood proudly. 
It was not often that I felt like a woman. 

She kept her jewelry armoire on her dresser;
amalgam of pasta shell and 
bead necklaces, ones with topaz stone
and pearl. Souvenir pins and
extra shirt buttons, endearments from 
prior suitors. 
Ziploc bag with tuft of dog hair. 


Sitting in some low-lit bar
The swarthy eye croons like
Hold a wine glass like a warm cigarette
tilting the bowled weight between the finger bones
Purse-lipped sip bitter swirl over tongue
Until mouth is soft as sand. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s