Vicky

Says she would blow a guy
for a spicy chicken sandwich at Wendy’s.
Her skeletal frame slinking onto the dance floor
eyes sunken back, bloodshot
from her homemade prescriptions.

I tell her of times I blew guys for the prick of snow
until the time they rolled me back and opened
my only wound that can never be replaced again
with the safety of skin
then came for me in the dead of nights
demanding payments I couldn’t give without
new scars and tears.

She rolls it off as if there is nothing wrong with
being a little intoxicated
on weed and one night stands.

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