Dragon & Nighthawk

Lori tore me from her moratorium 

and played me down til I was crumbs.

We flung ourselves to freshmen patterns;

scattered clothing in Joelle’s bathroom,

tattered stories that never happened.

But they did.  We swear they did.

And we carved pumpkins.

And we looked great;

our tummies resting on Mandarin plates.

No fortune cookie could predict

us chicks would click like clock puppets.

Rum marionettes us across the room

to downstairs, upstairs, north, south

Professor, I done the homework

and google mapped this house,

it’s just on the roundabout

where College meets Prof.

Doth know what direction we’re going?

Doth not. Christie will lead us.

Death Machine turned real keen on us pups.

And we’d burrow back to Barrows.

And you’d steal my frosting—

and you probably don’t even remember it,

but I was so angry.

But then you flared your nostrils

and growled at me

and I was so happy.

And then you smacked me

and we slid down a hill,

amidst the snow we threw at will

and waded back to outer space

where Dragons and Nighthawks have their place

to roam the night with dark flashlights

that led us nowhere til sunlight.

Delighted not be Sunday, 

Hyundai parked between our ears,

we hope someday

water appears 

on our nightstands

lest morning us

will trust be damned.

We’ll remember better

next weekend

when we’ll be rice

wrapped tight in seaweed,

soy sauce, smoked easy.

Breezing by like goons,

we just some spus 

breaking sick moves

singing the song that goes

happy birthday to you.

Hap.