The jalapeno one is too hot —
too hot for me.
My friend forgot, her week was bad.
Alone hoping for snacks,
watching airbrush tattoo artist, determined not
to leave before the sun sinks,
hoping if my picture is captured in the photographer’s camera,
that I look much better than usual, not so scared.
As I am.
Writing seems strange with so many people around, so social,
What else can a determined girl/woman do?
Decades old on the outside,
inside twelve remembering thirty-five
as if it was yesterday’s prepubescent dream.
Happy birthdays to me,
all of them past, and
when I may not care —
today may be their only party.
Drink it up now as if it’s on sale
ninety per cent off,
as good as stolen.
Does this mean I’m free tonight,
This was written last night after the swiftness of vodka, which I’m not used to. In the light of day, I did minimal editing (so I wouldn’t erase the drunkenness), then added formatting and punctuation so it could be read the way I heard it in my head as I scribbled it down. There’s only one poem because I did find a few people to make small talk with before the sun went down in the rooftop space we were in.
Below, my temporary tattoos. Once I was drunk, I went ahead and got in line to be painted. The advertising was mandatory or you couldn’t get a cool one. I chose Thrillist, one of the sponsors, instead of Stoli Sticki (honey-flavored, good in the citrus drinks and the one with ginger beer) or Stoli Hot (!hot!) I chose the bird because it was pretty. At least, I think it’s a bird. There’s no glitter even though it may seem so. I don’t do glitter. Something about my skin’s angle to the light created that effect, kinda nice. I actually like how glitter looks sometimes. I just prefer not to touch it. But that’s a story for another time.