The Streetlight Sidewalk

She was the zip-locked single portion of hamburger, right behind the tater tots with an expiration date of 1989. She was a frigid and sheltered woman that was never accepted because she wanted to be a member so badly. Her name was Mary, I called her mother.
I sit alone in my ticky-tact one bed room apartment, reflecting on all the characteristics of my mother, trying to find what of her I can see in myself. We’ve never been able to relate to one another. I’m not aware of how the thought happen to cross my mind, I’m not even completely sure I do want to know, but I found myself feeling like my mothers’ vagina. There was no time to think more on that subject, because the party at the dance hall next to the Mex supermarket, was about begin.
The dance hall was dark and strobe lights filled the walls like decomposers on a corpse way past its time. A disco ball in the center of the ceiling reminded me of a Culture Club show, and made all the people look like they had a case of the psychedelic measles.
The corner of the room had a fold out chair that seemed like the perfect place to start this night. I am my mother’s clitoris, unnoticed and needing stimulation, like a starving Hebrew praying for manna in the Sinai Desert. I feel nothing in these places. Most people feel obligated to chat and socialize. I don’t even know why I came, I never really did come.
A few boys with skin like leather and eyes like Roman arches, sturdy but boring, push through the throng of dancers. They strike up conversation about music on the local radio station. I am my mother’s entrance way, no light ever escapes. I see their hopes of buying me drinks and perhaps seeing me naked dwindling, with every band and book I mention. They were looking for the partial start of a smirk, dreamers are often disappointed
Out the side door Rico waits in the alley for costumers, like a spiders web waiting for any flying prey. He wasn’t particular, he would eat anything from a fly to one of those cockroaches with wings. I purchase my trash and lean against the dumpster. I use what I got with what I’ve                                                                                                                                      got. I am my mother’s left lip, curled in almost a complete circle, with a small gap at both beginnings. We wonder what purpose we serve, we’re not aesthetic, not beautiful, and rough around the edges.             
Sirens ring from the main street out front. At first I thought that they were those natural disaster horns, it must have been the chemicals, but I thought we were evacuating the town. I ran out of the alley screaming for shelter and begging Poseidon for mercy. I am my mother’s glands, never prepared for the event and always over reacting.
There is a bar on the corner that serves to anyone that they can overcharge. I decide that that was the place for me, and headed down towards its promotional beer sing glow. That damn alley was still wet from yesterday and my cigarettes were damp. There are few things worse than damp smokes. Have you ever tried to smoke a wet stoag? It’s like sucking in on one of those useless cocktail straws.
The bartender had a gold tooth and a wink that seemed like a nervous twitch. He took a guess at what I would have to drink. He was a template, he swung and missed with the prediction of an orgasm, and then he spat in to the wind with sex on the beach. I only had twelve dollars and I hate sweet drinks, so I just had a domestic beer. I am my mother’s vagina, a caller I.D and we don’t answer numbers we don’t recognize. He wasn’t capable of knowing when the door was shut and he was just pounding his head on the wood. A girl can’t even go out in this town any more, there are a bunch of savages in this place.
My feet plant the pavement along with my ambitions. The walk home is short but the glow of street lights make the sidewalks seem miles, it all may be psychosomatic, but I decide to take a seat on the curb, under the street post. The orange light reminds me of this song I once heard called Teeth Like Gods Shoe Shine, in the song it says after you trade out everything you are and everyone you know we will all have an Orange Julius, and in that smoothie all the problems will be resolved. I am my mother’s nerve ending, overly stimulated.
A guy on a bicycle offers to ride me double dutch, and even though he was a meth addict and I knew he would ask to come in, it was better than walking. We arrive at my door he was what I expected, I gave him a five and said thanks. I probably should have slept with him; at the very least it would have put my mother’s sex organs out of my mind.
I always lock my door,  it’s not that this is a bad neighborhood but they don’t trust me. So I don’t give them pleasure of knowing that I’m am aware that they are to be trusted. My keys were in my pocket and that damn alley did me in again. They must have slipped out of my pocket and are probably right next to a plastic baggy with one of Rico’s june bugs. I check all the windows but I already knew they were locked. I look down the sidewalk.  The street light mile

had beaten me once before, why wouldn’t it now?  I break a window.  I am my mother’s glands, never prepared for the act and always over reacting.
I sit alone in my ticky-tact one bed room apartment, reflecting on all the characteristics of my mother, trying to find what of her I can see in myself. I’m not aware of how the thought happen to cross my mind, I’m not even completely sure I do want to know, but I found myself feeling like my mothers’ vagina. There was time now but why waste it, being her vagina isn’t so bad, it’s well kept and though timid it still has a flare and independence that makes me feel like being alone isn’t so bad as long as you have your phalanges.