There was me
There was the kid, there was me. I called him Screwball, I said hey mr., anything i said was a joke. I hit the jackpot, but there were so many. A bar held everything briefly. I drove home and forgot how I got there. I lost at pool. I lost at darts. It didn't feel anything like losing. I had a body that didn't work, but dudes couldn't tell, I was a performance inside of clothing. When you are young you get naked on the roof, any kid fumbling with a bra you're hysterical at, you won't let that go, but who was counting bras? Who hadn't had enough bras? We were sick of Bob Dylan whining through our computers. When we were down, we turned them to him. He was always there, holding a mug, sitting in a tree, he was not embarassed. He was better, but we were better looking. This was going to be post-dylan. This was going to be big. But it was hard to get it started. Memories dug their heels in. Our parents kept calling and reminding us who we were. Phonecalls were free, and there were so many.
Posted by Rachel B. Glaser