Feelin’ lyrical today.

Why I can’t be the wife of a man with mob ties in 70s era Vegas

I tried to paint my nail tips red
like Sharon Stone in Casino
when she was in her gold
lycra period.

The acetone in the shot glass
looked a lot like one of those twelve
dollar birthday shots.

I aborted the project; I couldn’t
wipe the polish into crescent moons
like Korean women in a-line dresses.

I couldn’t get all the pigment
from the edge of my nail bed.

I couldn’t find a mark to extort
gambling winnings from.

I couldn’t pull off
a fur wrap.


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