Your Ironic Haircuts
by Lucinda Beeman

All my bad men
belong to each other.

My friends light cigarettes
at the windowsill, say

Not Him Again, but I am curious
mostly as to whether you would ride

your bike to me through the rain-
I want to towel you off after. He would

never, not unless I offered to buy him
breakfast and blue eye shadow. Anyway

I like those awful words in ink across
your chest. It was nice and sort of

sexy when you wondered aloud if I wanted
to hit you on the elevator and

in answer I did, hard.  That short
sharp sound, your smile. My love you are

nothing if not a good kitten. But he
is a better kitten, blue eyed, and

darling you’re never going to want
me the way he did, or even as much

as you ache for Daisy Buchanan but
that’s okay- I’m happy to call you

Jay if you can manage to make me
die in my way, twice. I’m won’t

to root against you. I also won’t
believe a word you say. 

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Lucinda Beeman is currently an undergraduate at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. She studies Literature and Publishing.

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