Some Other Girls
Crazy meat-market, triangular mess-making hell bombs.
These girls prowl nightly and sometimes in broad daylight.
You are their antithesis.
They don't know what that means, but it is what you are.
Pretty, type-cast, girlscout cookie mock-ups with curled hair and peach lipstick.
They wake up next to awkward every morning.
You can laugh, but you have them beat.
They can pluck out piecey lyrics and wiggle a guitar strap around their bodies
adjusting the worn leather until it snaps just right against a silken blouse, an orange shoulder.
They remember The Beatles. But who doesn't?!
A good-night kiss becomes a championship wrestling match.
Hand-print-making breath and steam on car windows,
removed hoodie sweatshirts they can't believe they wore in the first place.
He is made up of the distant sound bites she leaves him
as another man breathes down her neck.
These girls bring a change of clothes to every dinner party
and their landlords are constantly lowering the rent.
Pull me out of this opulent, sugar-coated, warped heist of humanity
before she gets the better of me.