What I really wanted was a jean jacket with silver studs. Stay gold. The Baptists left a bag of clothes on the the stoop. The jean jacket you held up had puffed sleeves, wrong. I put it on and you took my picture in from of the foam core door.
The field between our place and Lindsey’s was filled with Goat Thorns and Devil’s Horns. Lindsey’s mom drank from tall plastic cups. Lindsey and I put on make-up and danced for her mom and the boyfriend Bob to Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator. Lindsey and I wore sexy outfits, acid wash. The smells of a sleepover there: liquored sweat, Menthol cigarettes, Juicy Fruit gum, pancakes.
At home, I was rarely hungry. At home, it seemed that our dogs were always dying from Parvo, outside cats crushed under trucks. At home, the ducks we’d incubated flew away. The linoleum warped and peeled so we taped it down and stood on that spot when people came over. My favorite red dress had blue flowers and a crooked yoke neck collar.
Ignoring things is sometimes the best option.