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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