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Description
There were girls laying on the counter top, their skirts still on, hands folded over their bare chests, breast sagging apart, caught in the trap of gravity. One smokes a cherry flavored cigar as men dress themselves in another room, the room with the pool table littered with tank tops and soup cans. One man flips his collar up, buttons the fly on his boxers, and leaves for work. That is so trendy. Another man in boxers puts on his suit coat, leaving his pants on the floor in a heap next to a box turned on it’s side, foam peanuts flowing out. Now this is art. She swings her legs over the edge of the pool table, wanders into the kitchen and smells the flowers growing in the refrigerator. I look up from writing a sonnet on a piece of napkin stained with lipstick and pickle relish. She throws a spoon in the sink and takes out a can of creamed corn, eating it with a fork, it drips between the prongs and lands in the cleavage of a girl that is propped against the cupboard door. A man in jeans walks out of the bathroom and kisses the man drinking soda out of a rum bottle goodbye. She eyes them. That is so hot. She slops another mouthful or corn over the edge of the can, then drops it with dignity, listens with bliss as it makes a hollow clink on the metal floor. Boys with briefcases file out and she tells them to kiss their mothers goodbye. The pull up bar stools to the high-rise counter, and kiss the girls on the foreheads, averting their eyes, ashamed at what their mothers had become. They wave in unison at their father, then march off to school in a single file line, swinging their briefcases, left right left right. I leave the room. She puts on a hat left in the trash, calls it fashion and walks back out to the room with the pool table. Another man, this one wearing shorts and a pinstripe suit coat, is putting paintings up on the wall. 1.6 inch spaces between each masterpiece. He measures with a tailors patience. She picks up a bucket of turpentine and throws it at the wall. Brilliant. They nod to each other, inhaling the pungent fumes, turning around they nod to the girl who’s hair is up in rollers. The curlers nod back, falling to the floor as she cuts them out of her hair. Short choppy messed up hair is so in. They nod again, turning around and walking into a dark room filled with only candles. She puts a white button up shirt on over her bare breasts, drips candle wax on her toes and sits down next to a little girl holding a stuffed rabbit. The little girl looks up with blind eyes, eats another carrot, then falls over drunk. I stand up across from them, shaking my head, and leave the room. There’s a knock at the door, then a frantic ring of the bell, come on in, come on in, come on in in in… Boisterous perfume flounces in, trailed by a large woman in loud blue print and a bucket hat....

unfinished

Description
There were girls laying on the counter top, their skirts still on, hands folded over their bare chests, breast sagging apart, caught in the trap of gravity. One smokes a cherry flavored cigar as men dress themselves in another room, the room with the pool table littered with tank tops and soup cans. One man flips his collar up, buttons the fly on his boxers, and leaves for work. That is so trendy. Another man in boxers puts on his suit coat, leaving his pants on the floor in a heap next to a box turned on it’s side, foam peanuts flowing out. Now this is art. She swings her legs over the edge of the pool table, wanders into the kitchen and smells the flowers growing in the refrigerator. I look up from writing a sonnet on a piece of napkin stained with lipstick and pickle relish. She throws a spoon in the sink and takes out a can of creamed corn, eating it with a fork, it drips between the prongs and lands in the cleavage of a girl that is propped against the cupboard door. A man in jeans walks out of the bathroom and kisses the man drinking soda out of a rum bottle goodbye. She eyes them. That is so hot. She slops another mouthful or corn over the edge of the can, then drops it with dignity, listens with bliss as it makes a hollow clink on the metal floor. Boys with briefcases file out and she tells them to kiss their mothers goodbye. The pull up bar stools to the high-rise counter, and kiss the girls on the foreheads, averting their eyes, ashamed at what their mothers had become. They wave in unison at their father, then march off to school in a single file line, swinging their briefcases, left right left right. I leave the room. She puts on a hat left in the trash, calls it fashion and walks back out to the room with the pool table. Another man, this one wearing shorts and a pinstripe suit coat, is putting paintings up on the wall. 1.6 inch spaces between each masterpiece. He measures with a tailors patience. She picks up a bucket of turpentine and throws it at the wall. Brilliant. They nod to each other, inhaling the pungent fumes, turning around they nod to the girl who’s hair is up in rollers. The curlers nod back, falling to the floor as she cuts them out of her hair. Short choppy messed up hair is so in. They nod again, turning around and walking into a dark room filled with only candles. She puts a white button up shirt on over her bare breasts, drips candle wax on her toes and sits down next to a little girl holding a stuffed rabbit. The little girl looks up with blind eyes, eats another carrot, then falls over drunk. I stand up across from them, shaking my head, and leave the room. There’s a knock at the door, then a frantic ring of the bell, come on in, come on in, come on in in in… Boisterous perfume flounces in, trailed by a large woman in loud blue print and a bucket hat....

unfinished