Stanchion Magazine, Issue 19
PEP TALK
I hate going in here, I ruin
my manicure, bite my thumbs
down to dead tissue.
Aunt Dorothy said, get out
to where the men get out
and that’s The Cow Pony.
Much better than my date last night
with the couch, crushing
bamboo bowls of stove popcorn,
reading twelve greasy pages over
and over without comprehension,
my mood turning to charcoal.
Don’t expect a prince, look
for a brute you can take the edge
off. You did it with your feral cat…
The bathroom line is a spectator sport;
you watch bros on barstools.
At the other end of that fist pump
might be a shoulder broad enough
to carry your burdens. The guy
with armpit sweat might propose
moving Dad’s gun safe two flights
down to the basement’s concrete
floor. Will I always be haunted
by that rando, You have a banging
body, butterface? Wait, it was
a compliment! Remember
when you blew up Becky’s
Bunsen burner at Camp O-Ongo?
Boys thought you were cool
because you walked around
flicking your Dad’s Zippo —
do that tonight.
You don’t need attention to feel
ha, yes you do; lower the key
of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
You’re too nice to shut anyone
down, too plain-looking to say
no to a pity drink.
Maybe tonight is the night
someone might say,
My parents are going to love you.
Susan Kolon 