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Just Good Friends in pecos
Henut and Judy sucking lollipops
are the room's only furnishing.
The dusty sunlight
prints the flaking wallpaper
and their slim dark dresses
with slats of gray and amber
Close-cropped curls, feathery
mascara, high rounded breasts—
they are so still and silent.
But the coppery sostenuto
of the desert sunset shrills
against the window. The hot wind
jostles tumbleweed
between the shells
of automobiles and the husks
of gas-pumps. In another time.
It must be through me,
she said. You will filter
like rainwater between my body's
awful stones. Blue and translucent
she sat in the tangled sheets
hugging her knees, seeming to bruise
whatever it was flickered
like a moth in her teenage heart.
There was blossom beyond the curtain,
but the bed smelled of fear.
You are not alone, I said.
There are others just like you.
I slide the pistol back
into its polished holster and finger
the leather with respect—
like a Sunday shoe. My own voice
surprises me: Okay, girls,
let me see you dance. And I want
to see you kiss each other
with your sticky mouths.
   
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