Bldg C Girls Restroom by rhaecates


									Bldg C Girls’ Restroom
-Lisa Kanae

First I suck on a menthol filter tip,
Then release Kool, swirling soundless to
Pacify the woman-child in the mirror,
Whose sable wide-eyes
Dart side to side.

Maybeline lashes beat like rabbit’s breaths,
Eyelids powdered baby-blue with a sponge-tipped wand.
Bite the unsure lower-lip lacquered with
A sticky cherry gloss.
Am I perfect yet?
Please remember me anyway.

My black felt tip flaws the gray tiled blocks
Arranged like the halls outside; single file, side-by-side.
Straight paths lead to straight minds.
Here. Straighten this—

Lopsided hearts, anonymous threats,
Crude poetry dedicated to the boy with the senior-prom
That matched my pink polyester dress,
Never to be worn again.
Once white-gloved high at the elbows, these hands
Will mark this wall well.

Ink, dry before the bell rings,
Before the shiny gowns and tasseled squares are worn.
I peel the cigarette in the bone porcelain ashtray,
Which was once a bathroom sink,
Where water will wash away the ashes.

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