Glass (Crank 2)

a baggy shirt that covers

my tummy, and for the first

time in months, a little makeup.

Robyn Greets Trey

With a massive, soggy kiss,

one meant to impress.

(But impress him or me?)

All I get is a lukewarm,

Hey, Kristina. Long time

no see. You look good.

No hug? No warm, fuzzy

friendship to rekindle? Oh, well.

Not like we were ever the best

of friends. More like snorting

buddies. She used me. I used

her, and I’m using her now.

“You look great too, Robyn.”

Yeah. Great. Like bones,

in a bag of jaundiced skin.

Robyn opens the door.

Sorry about the mess.

I’ve been kind of busy.

Anyway, housework is

such a waste. It never

frigging ends, does it?

The smell—dirty ashtrays,

sweat, and a slight hint

of mildew—almost knocks

me over and I enter at my

own risk. “Mess” does not