By Jody MacPherson, March 2004, Unpublished

 

She horoscopes the day ahead,

“You will fall in love with an orangutan.”

Her fingernails glitter

like broken glass in the sun

cinnamon-sweet breath on my face

 

She pulls mechanically on mirror-image strands of hair

comparing lengths

clicking her tongue in dismay,

pepper-sprays me with “product,” mist metallic on my lips

 

I imagine she swallows her scissors

exhales hot curling irons

as the Doctor arrives to clean up the mess

 

Strands of hair tickle

as the sound of Rod Stewart’s Greatest Hits album plays

scratched and crass like an automobile repair shop

greasy with sweat

 

She’ll say later that it was a bad omen

the powdery hardness of the maid of honour

the sloppy joe texture

of their love

 

as sexy as a head cold on a hot summer day

 

Virgo dials 1-900 for psychic advice

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