Dusk.
The day is shutting down,
kiosks are closing.
The night’s pulse comes alive:
neon signs stutter and twitch,
pool hall hustlers chalk their sticks,
a saxophonist blows
jubilation
into a smokey nightclub.
Becoming Proud of My Boobs
It’s strange. Before that remark, I didn’t consider my boobs to be that big. A small part of me was offended. Was she calling me…