by Sydney Sargis
Stolen cigarettes burn holes in your pockets.
Secrets, too ashamed of their hidden closets,
hide themselves under your argyle socks
which lie beneath the miles of which your tired feet
have had the dignity of walking.
Bathtubs full of sulfur and coal to clean your aching soul.
Champagne bottles, wine glasses,
scattered on a motel floor. Only to be delivered
by yet another mistake of celebrity obsessions
pop cultured societies.
It is not what it used to be,
what the man with the wrinkled face on your bus
used to know.
Author Biography: Sydney is a 17 year old sarcastic rugby
player currently residing in a van down by the river. Born and raised in
Chicago, she now lives in Warsaw, Indiana. She still does not know where
that is. Her interests include: writing, listening to records, avoiding
political correctness, and eating- like a lot.