photo by Ph B on Unsplash.
While Shopping in Wal Mart
Whiskey-cured skin the purplish hue of cigarette smoke, she spoke into her phone as she shoved among the racks of Carters newborn clothes. Her daughter. They need preemie size. Mom says, “You keep squirting out these jellybeans” they laughed. I imagine then that daughter smokes, too, remember the infomercial where a young mom who smoked during pregnancy resulting in premature birth, advises you to “put your face near” the NICU incubator opening “so your baby can see and hear you better.” I distance from maskless Grandma, I bet they refuse vaccines, too. Nine Minutes, Twenty-Nine Seconds Lips, your chocolate silk, sweet brush mine, drift down my neck, kind eyes heat me. A heartbeat- Those lips, swollen, desire breathes. Nose bloodied, your neck dips Clipped beneath another man’s weight. Full pivot, one knee, “Look, Ma, no fucking hands!” glasses cap his head, he snaps, “Get back!” testosterone high as he mashes you flatter into asphalt. And the world watches your mouth melt, mix, hot tar and a carbon monoxide cloud. Wolfpack Contributor: Rachael Ikins An elegy from “The Woman With Three Elbows” coming soon from Rachael Ikins A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Rachael Ikins