by Meg Eden
Joker-red hair, dyed in the sink.
Always alone, white boy—
Alone, rider. Alone, burrito-eater.
Even Anne won’t share your apartment.
Always alone, white boy—
What’d you think this is, a movie?
Even Anne won’t share your apartment,
though you flirt, will you visit me in prison?
What’d you think this is, a movie?
The bullets shot into the next theater.
You flirt. Will you visit me in prison?
You don’t pretend you didn’t do it.
The bullets shot into the next theater.
A boy crawling under the seats.
You don’t pretend you didn’t do it,
but tell them about the mined apartment.
A boy crawling under the seats.
The woman didn’t move when I shook her—
But tell them about the mined apartment,
tell them, you don’t discriminate who dies.
The woman didn’t move when I shook her—
There was blood on the stairs.
Tell them, you don’t discriminate who dies,
six year old girl. Twenty seventh birthday.
There was blood on the stairs.
This isn’t part of the movie.
Six year old girl, twenty seventh birthday,
It's always the quiet ones who take you.
This isn’t part of the movie.
Comic book adrenaline like tear-gas.
It's always the quiet ones who take you.
Don’t you know your own mind, Neuroscience?
Comic adrenaline, book like tear-gas—
Alone, rider. Alone, burrito-eater.
Don’t you know your own mind, Neuroscience?
Joker-red hair. Died in the sink.
Meg Eden has been published in various magazines and anthologies and is the recipient of the 2012 Henrietta Spiegel Creative Writing Award. Her collection Your Son has received The Florence Kahn Memorial Award. Her collection Rotary Phones and Facebook is to be released in summer 2012 by Dancing Girl Press.
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