Girl or Just Violence from Here: Poem Eleven
Snow White's Senior Prom
I saw when Sarah’s stuffed and whale boned dress by Demitrios burst. Her breasts called mosquito bites popped, “Do you believe in destiny?” caressing roses on wrists ebony and blood on snow. The kiss is so important, curved smoke drowsing over vampire lips excusing sleepy seduction. I pinched my toes and buttoned down my flesh for Nick’s sexy basket ball legs in blue slacks, clammy hands, a tailcoat, top hat, and Mustang. He called my panties jade Is that a license to drive like a bat outta hell? I watched as Bill hid in Mr. Spock’s mind, a religious man running from dances and kissing games. Can I really say: “I’m having a magnificent time, really!” when his hands creep above my waist slight spandex security. My parents snapped polaroids for the next company barbecue. It’s not the blue-winged fairy tales that matter when we wait for gold princes and silver-edged swords to lift us from dragon green spheres into glass slippers. Summer walked four miles in twenty degree weather, so no one would see her dad drop her off. “I don’t want to go home yet,” though Michael got grabbed by a cop while sucking on the new girl’s pussy. Another dance, another girl, I guess. Nick didn’t notice little white fly-away elastics on my wide lace waist great pink poppies panties as his fingers pushed their black crotch aside. I have this idea of roses on creamy hotel beds sweeping like blood on snow a mutual kiss of flakes and smoke fingers slinking over black sequins. Adam stood in the beverage line picking his nose with forged smiles and forced zest. and brother Andy pissed himself in the shitter, belching Hamms in a lip gloss pink cummerbund. I can’t believe he sang: “I’m too sexy for this damned prom.” Brady bought his vampire suit at a porn shop. Bleeding velvet, braids of white light, formals clinging like crepe paper. He always says: “No, I’m not here with anyone.” I think it’s why Heidi wants to hang with gauzy scarves even though she breathes sparkling eyes and starlight kisses. We only had shots of dad’s bourbon. So I wonder why when midnight comes all eyes are on me, a snagged Cinderella standing in black sequins and vomit. Definitely not a silver lined fairy-tale but I’ll never forget Nick called them jade; he kissed my wide lace waist pink poppy panties.