I slept last night, lenses in my eyes
and blinking them back
into the world that was racketing about inside my head.
Tried to will it away, like games of manhunt late in august,
pictured myself yelling, opening windows and doors, flinging
wildly.
And it all scrambled out
leaving me standing, fatigued, in the middle of my white, blank brain.
Eyes wide open, awake like a steroid. Clock muttering, bawling, 3:47.
Eyes wide.
I frumped, I thought, it was red and crept, seeping back in the cracks; brow furrowed,
I thought again of darkness.
Cluttered room as at last I slept, troubled, hot,
the fan blowing the sweaty wisps of babyhair
from my forehead.
I wake to jeanlines in my thighs and a missing top button – CranberryWine colored blouse bubbling open at the top and sticky slender white bra glancing out. (The space between my breasts still nappy, yawning in the BraShadow).
He peeks. I see him.
“no coffee” I say. No coffee. Small look in the side scraggle mirror, last
night’s clothes, knotty FakeCurl hair,
I crave a cigarette. I stare at Newport Lights on the table, pick up a lighter and flick it. Idly. No smile, eyes blinking sticky lenses awake. “no coffee” I repeat.
/
His truck starts, my taffy-colored car shudders on. It’s sleepy, too. The soft grind of rubber over gravel, shift gears and
back into focus, almost missed my turn. Right blinker on when I think of two voices, two best-friend voices telling me ‘watch for cops.’ Staties, we say.
Take the market-road home, the back way;
the troopers won’t catch you in the morning.
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