Aurora Magazine 2017

II.

The bathroom where First Daughter would try to deal with adolescent mornings a shot of DayQuil after her skull split from the two 24 oz. MGD’s Union Made pounded nearly every night of High School chugged covertly while heeling flower pots. Now a shot or two from the boot and half a cigarette. (Pulling slack so dirty. Except when G-D then intelligent design.) Stiff ropes cutting backs of the Lady of the House’s Marigolds in spiteful drunken atonement. Ropes when whipped into a jackpot of a dallied horn eat the fingers of the careless; when pulled round the ankles of the fleeing Second Daughter lead to Campbell’s Tomato Soup bloody noses and possum hope. (Attempt into good graces. December 1994 Playboy found in a Paint by Number. May every woman be so lovely at 40.) Thirty-One prodigal First Daughter bespoke pin-stripe. A Derby break in the sea of Stetsons, always the gambler, no longer the gambled. Don’t for the love of god play that fucking song from Beaches. Sticks like the vomitus of a bad morning on the boot, like green chilies, papas, masa, and Squirt. Six and one half missed theological points of a C student Methodist preacher reminded her that funerals are just a show. (In, up, out.)

(Hallelujah! Hallelujah? Raise and Bury Thee! O Honky Tonk Banshee!)

44