Poem
The Party
The red fox told me not to wear green –
peacock coats are out, with vermillion tails –
a pink-tinted drinking straw pushed through a pursed lid,
a root beer in his hand, he was wearing purple stilettos
with an arm bandaged from an incident with a blender.
Now, though, he was completely in charge,
a kiss me quick I’m a sailor hat perched between his ears
his orange tail
slung so low, sprung up in a white flourish.
We all admired that. Come, he said to me,
pulling me into a confidence – there was caffeine on his breath –
allow yourself an indiscretion just this once.
My skin rose to his feral touch.
I needed to retch.
