At a party last night and I couldn’t stop looking at girls right straight in the teeth. All of their mouths were different. Some had small, pointy daggers. Some had more gums than calcium deposits. Some had shiny white pearls. They laughed and smiled and talked to me and I pretended to be perfectly normal, staring at their mouths.
I went downtown to look for a beautiful, careless idiot. I pulled on my red lace mittens and clopped down the street, worn heels dragging. Numb hands. Too cold. I peered into dark bars and backed out before any stranger could touch me on the back to say, “esscuse me.” Around the third wood-paneled, warm hole-in-the-wall, I wandered in deep. I slipped between the people talking too loudly, the standers, the hangers on, then I floated back toward the door. Someone said, “We got a wanderer,” right next to my ear. A bicycle bell on the street and I kept my head down. Five blocks to the car, I pulled my purse inside of my jacket and zipped up. No one would mug a pregnant lady; especially one who doesn’t make eye contact. Seem to be stuck again. A record scratch or a shitty needle and I am playing out the same over and over. Over and over.