by Darlene Zagata
I saw you with her yesterday
as she leaned against the car with
thighs bulging from beneath jean shorts
twisting dry, listless strands of hair,
dead remnants of peroxide suicide.
Her fingers weave a barbed-wire fence.
Full lips spew sweet poisoned words.
The enemy is within my friend.
Hear the whisper of the snake.
The knife you use to cut your food
may end up sticking in your back.
Like a dog with hidden tail
you lick your wounds and crawl right back.
Her cigarette smoke settles heavily
in clouds that bear a fog-like noose
drape around a formless neck,
blindfold eyes that burn with hunger
speaking words of misplaced pity.