The girl
stands at the bar
cold
in the crowd
warming up.
She’s invisible
or too visibly impatient
She waits, unwillingly
to close out
to close off
to close in
for the night.
In the buzz
she’s buzzed
brushed by
the brash and bold
musician
on a
mission
who someone already told…
“You’re amazing”
she says.
No gratitude
rude is the attitude
that it takes,
that makes you
famous,
that gets you to the
top.
She’s high, she’s into it
she grabs a drink
and attention.
The girl tries to sign–
away this moment,
her movement,
her palpable exclusion,
her denied pride and
limitless unapproved
credit
Musing,
smirking,
jerking her.
Tearing her down,
just like this town.
The musician says,
look what someone gave me
look what I’ve found
No clue
but the girl knew
it was bound
to get around.
She holds out
a piece of
paper
words written clean
but meant to be dirty–
In between
Don’t make a scene,
you were slotted for this
allotted this position:
butt of the joke
insert awkward
laugh.
Was she being mean?
does any of it mean?
does any of it have to
do with
me…?
Withdraw,
ready to go,
slow motion,
bumping arms like
bumper cars,
not enough space to be
erased in.
They watch the girl leave
but she was never there,
never where
they made her
wrote her on paper
wrote her down
wrote her off
as a friend
to the enemy.
As what they could
never trust
Dirt, dust
in the cracks
underneath their identical sneakers
they sneak
her
into the pavement.
We grieve their
achieved establishment of her station,
her defamation.
Took down her number
She’s a number
Take a number
She’s crossed the line
She’s out of line
She is the bottom line
Driving down the road,
headed to the closest
thing to home.
She knows
the demise of
the yellow lines,
the peril of their
inconsistent lives
She wishes she
didn’t have to
pass or
cross over
the loophole
of their hold
She lingers
in the middle
in the space;
In between
