Posting her personals ad, by Juliet Cook
That one didn’t want to be her live-in.
Her foundation was too unnaturally orange;
its application a high-
maintenance profiling process.
One trick is to stir the batter with a filthy stiletto
wrenched off her own battered shoe
while she wobbles precariously;
indulges in increasingly frequent taste tests.
All wigged-out, nothing prefab about this box
mixed metaphor. Plumped lips. White grease
from sizzling bacon oozes under pink nail tips.
Sometimes she uses it in her ginger snaps.
Sometimes she works it into her deep-fried hair,
which may not make much sense to YOU, but maybe
you’re not the demographic she’s catering to. She files them under
entre nous |