Number One: Viagra

Number One: Viagra

A pixie blonde sees her older

man. With synched waist and red heels,

she strokes

his arm. She

imagines his daughter at McGill. Dad.

Did he sleep with her,

too?

No, she’s dealing with a

tired

old

man. Not a pervert.

I watch them and I

wish I had a cigarette. Not

because I smoke, but because I

can smell their Copper Moon, KY and sex

from here. He also smells like a small

four-sided pill.

It looks like this:

Viagra

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This entry was published on Tuesday, August 5, 2014 at 8:13 pm. It’s filed under Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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