7

Her lipstick was smudged, it gave her that 

satiated look. Just pulling one’s sock off seemed

ambitious. The curtains did their thing.  It was

tomorrow already. We secretly despised jazz. 

Ohio was our reason. 

She said “take any danish you want,” her flip

flops the color of mustard. O straw qualities

of summer … a kind of totalitarianism in

the bunny pen. Now a well-heeled shaman

moves through the courtyard. Tea is his locution.