Rita calls.
She’s coming over
for a girl’s night-in
because she likes
the name of the wine—
Yellow Tail. She says,
I like tail, and laughs
till she chokes.
She doesn’t knock;
she just comes right in,
heads straight
for the bathroom,
tells me she’s like a dog—
has to mark every new spot.
Her breasteses bulge out
of her black lingerie top
like she’s been leaning
on the shoulder of a silent lotus.
You can tell
she thinks she’s gorgeous.
Her low class loveliness
breaks my heart a little.
Rita, you’re poetry.
She stares at me;
a smoke ring
makes her right eye water.
What the fuck?  she says,
you’re ate up with it, lil sister.
